


so it's gonna be forever or it's gonna go down in flames

by larajeancovey



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larajeancovey/pseuds/larajeancovey
Summary: Allie leans back against the locker, watching Harry Bingham kiss his girlfriend hello.Her sister's number one enemy, the most popular guy in school.And apparently, her soulmate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I was going to write the next chapter of my other fic, but then this happened instead? Sorry!! I'll get the update up this week, I'm just slightly lacking in motivation at the moment. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this soulmate au instead!!

The first time Allie Pressman hears the word 'soulmate', she’s six. 

She’d been dropped off an hour earlier at her cousins’ house for a playdate while her parents took her sister to the hospital for one of her mysterious appointments. Allie’s aunt had been especially nice to her when she’d arrived, complimenting her new rain-boots – the ones she’d specially adorned with sparkly stickers – and letting her have three cookies during snack time even though she’d yelled at Sam just seconds earlier for trying to steal an extra. She knows it’s just because she’s trying to make Allie feel better, but it still feels nice. At home, no one ever pays this much attention to her. 

Around four, Sam’s best friend Becca arrives. Allie’s glad when that happens because Becca is funny and nice, and also because she doesn’t want it to just be and her and Sam and Campbell anymore. She and Sam are playing Monopoly in the den while Campbell is draped across the couch, some kind of video game in hand. Ever so often, though, Allie will catch him watching her and it sends a shiver up her spine every time. 

Even though he’s her family, Allie can’t help but feel unsettled by Campbell. It doesn’t help that he’s never been particularly nice to her. He’s always taking every instance to make fun of how short she is or pull her hair when their parents aren’t looking. Whenever she complains to her mom, Campbell always rolls his eyes and says she’s making up stories. He’s eight and a half while she’s just six, so her parents always take his side. 

Allie hates it. She thinks she might hate Campbell too, which makes her feel guilty even though it’s just inside of her own head. 

Anyway, Becca’s mom drops her off on the way to work, waving from the car with tired eyes and a weary smile. Allie doesn’t know any other parents who work on Sunday afternoons, but she doesn’t say this out loud to Becca. Instead, she just smiles and waves big, immediately forgetting about Monopoly in the face of all the other new and exciting games they can play now that they’re three instead of just two. 

Her teachers at school are always complaining about her short attention span. Her parents don’t think it’s a problem though, at least not yet. 

They spend a while brainstorming ideas about what to do. Sometimes, Allie will get so excited she’ll forget to sign her words instead of just saying them out loud. Becca will always give her a nudge when she does this, and she’ll blush, quickly correcting her mistake. Allie thinks Sam is the luckiest guy in the world to have a best friend as awesome and caring as Becca. Allie just has Cassandra, and she’s her sister. She has to be nice to her. 

Finally, after a full twenty minutes of them coming up with one fruitless idea after another, Becca suggests they play pretend a wedding. Oddly, she’s looking at Campbell when she says it, a hopeful sort of light in her eyes. Allie feels her stomach lurch – she doesn’t want Campbell to play with them, does she? 

She and Sam both agree, and Campbell – to Allie’s annoyance – peels himself off the couch and announces he’ll be joining them, too. 

“Aren’t you too old to be playing pretend?” she asks snarkily and Campbell fixes her with a look so cold she finds herself rushing after Sam to go look in his parents’ closet without another word.  
When they come back, Sam is carrying a white summer dress of his mom’s and a brown corduroy suit he’d found hanging in his dad’s closet. Allie’s arms are loaded with jewelry, makeup, and at least four pairs of high heels because she hadn’t been able to pick which ones she liked best. Becca squeals in delight, rushing to help her carry it all, while Campbell watches with cool disinterest.

They decide quickly that Becca will be the bride – because Allie can’t marry her cousins, yucky yuck – but there’s a little bit of debate over who’ll be the groom. Allie suggests Sam, but Campbell talks over her, volunteering himself as tribute. She exchanges a look with Sam, who just shrugs, like what can you do. 

She helps Becca do makeup, even though neither of them is particularly good at it. They giggle as they smear shimmery blue eyeshadow over Becca’s eyelids, drag ruby red lipstick in a wobbly line across her mouth. Allie’s aunt is tall – much taller than her mom, even though they’re sisters – so the dress is way too big for Becca, leaving a long train behind her that she almost trips over twice. 

The situation improves a little when she puts on the heels they decide on – sparkly silver ones with a buckle strap Allie has to kneel all the way down to fasten – but those are big too, so not much. 

Campbell is waiting by the TV when they return, and Allie wonders why he even decided to play. He usually never gives them the time of day. Becca is oddly nervous as they wait for Sam to clear the space for a makeshift altar. “What do you think your real wedding will be like?” she whispers to Allie, too low for Campbell to overhear. 

Allie shrugs, smacking her lips. She’s snuck on a little bit of the lipstick too. 

Becca leans towards her conspiratorially, “Mine is going to be in the spring, in a big garden. And I’m going to wear a pretty white dress with a long train like this one, with a flower crown instead of a veil.” She sighs dreamily, “Oh, I can’t wait to meet my soulmate.” 

At this, Allie perks up. “Soulmate?” 

Becca fixes her with an incredulous look, “You don’t know what soulmates are?” She says it like Allie’s committed just about the most giant crime in the world.

“No?” She doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but it does. 

“Don’t you have a mark?” 

“A mark?” 

Becca lifts up her sleeve, revealing a heart shaped symbol on her right arm, along the edge of her wrist. “Yeah, silly, a soulmate mark.” 

“Oh,” Allie wrinkles her nose, and then turns all the way around, yanking her collar to the side. There, on the curve of her shoulder, is a reddish half-moon. She’d asked her mom about it once, but she’d gone all wide-eyed and secretive, telling her it was a grown up talk they were going to have another day when Allie was older. “Do you mean this?” 

Becca doesn’t get a chance to respond before Allie feels a hand on her shoulder, roughly yanking her shirt back into place. She can’t help it – she lets out a little cry. 

Campbell stares at her coldly, his eyes oddly dark. “Enough with the soulmate talk. Let’s get on with this wedding.” 

Becca loses interest in their conversation at those words, eagerly yanking her dress into place and taking her spot across from Campbell. He takes her hand carefully. Oddly, Allie feels the urge to yank her away from him. 

“I think we should say a couple of words,” Becca says, “Like in weddings on TV.” 

Allie is beginning to feel like this was a bad idea. “Maybe we can skip that part,” she says anxiously, wanting it all to be over with. 

Campbell ignores her. “I can promise to always be your husband, in sickness and health,” he says to Becca, almost sweetly. She lights up like he’s just handed her the moon, but Allie just feels sick to her stomach. 

“I promise to always be your wife, too,” Becca parrots back. She looks at Sam expectantly, and he hands them the rings he’d fashioned out of the string he’d found at the bottom of his mother’s sewing kit. Campbell ties on Becca’s for her – “Ow, it’s too tight,” she yelps, but he just laces it tighter. Her finger begins to turn blue. 

When Sam’s mom comes running into the room just before the wedding smooch, squawking about her ruined lipstick and missing dress, Allie is, for the first time in her life, glad to be getting yelled at. 

She hadn’t liked the look on Campbell’s face as he leaned in for the kiss. 

The next time Allie gets asked about her soulmate mark, she’s ten and sitting around an Ouija board at Gwen Patterson’s birthday party. 

It’s a sleepover – her first – and Allie knows that she’d only been invited because of her sister. Gwen’s not even in her grade – she probably barely knows who she is – but Cassandra had refused to come without Allie, so she’d been forced to extend the invitation. Even now, Allie sits on the outskirts of the group, feeling like an idiot for packing her softest pair of pajamas with dancing polar bears all across them while every other girl is clad in shorts and skimpy tank tops that show off the straps of the bras they all just started wearing. 

Allie is still wearing a training one. Her mom says that’s perfectly okay, but, suddenly, she isn’t sure anymore. 

Gwen had brought out the Ouija board – also a relic of her brother’s - after they finished washing the R-rated scary movie she’d snuck from her older brother’s collection, claiming that they should try and contact the spirit from the film. All the girls had eagerly agreed, though Allie had seen fear in the eyes of more than half of them. 

Well, not Cassandra.

“That’s stupid,” her sister had said firmly, crossing her arms over chest. She, too, is wearing a pair of fleece pajamas. “Ghosts aren’t real.” 

She and Gwen had gotten into a fight then, until finally the other girl had agreed to table the Ouija board idea. The other girls had joined in when Gwen accused Cassandra of being a party pooper but most of them had looked relieved, too. 

Allie is one of them. She knows that ghosts aren’t real because Cassandra says so and Cassandra is always right, but still. It’s better to be safe than sorry. 

After the ghost talk dissipates, the conversation turns to what middle school girls like best: middle school boys. “I think Clark has a crush on me,” Gwen whispers to them like it’s some kind of top security secret, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I see him looking at me all the time during lunch.” 

The girls all ‘ooh’ like he’s offered to marry her. Allie wishes she were at home, cuddled under her comforter with her favorite Harry Potter book. The third one, obviously, because duh. Hermione totally kicks ass in that one, even more than usual. 

“You’re so lucky - Clark is so cute,” Erika says dreamily. “I think he’s, like, the tallest boy in our grade now. My brother says he’s probably going to be recruited by the varsity football team next year, he’s that good.” 

Allie thinks of Clark. She’s still at the elementary school while they all moved up this year, so she hasn’t seen him in a couple of months. From what she remembers of him, though – her most vivid memory is of him screaming “Food fight!” and flinging mashed potatoes at Jason in the school cafeteria – she thinks Gwen is far from lucky. 

“I don’t know,” Kelly says, piping up for the first time all night. “I kind of think Harry is better-looking.” 

Now that’s an assessment Allie can agree with. She’s not really interested in boys, but even she’s noticed Harry. She thinks he might be the prettiest person she’s ever seen – all messy dark curls, warm brown eyes, and eyelashes most girls would be jealous of. 

That’s all before he opens his mouth, though. Then, he’s just about the worst.

“Ooh, you’re right,” some girl Allie doesn’t know chimes in with a sigh. The other girls all nod eagerly, while Cassandra just heaves a sigh. They’re only eleven, but she and Harry are already always at one another’s throats. Every day, Cassandra will come home from middle school with a story about some idiotic prank he pulled on their teacher or some fight he’d picked with her over the right answer to a question. 

Lexie, at Allie’s right, sits forward then, a thoughtful look on her face. She looks around the group carefully. “Do any of you know who your soulmate is?” 

She says the word all hushed and secretive, the way everyone talks about soulmates. Delicately, like they’re afraid one wrong move could upset the balance of the universe. 

Allie hasn’t heard much talk about soulmates in the four years that have passed since she first showed Becca her mark. She’d asked Cassandra about it when she’d gotten home, but her sister had just shaken her head with a soft smile and told her she’d get it when she was older, like she didn’t have only one year and three months on Allie. 

Sometimes, she really hates being the younger sister. 

Every girl in the circle shakes their heads, looking dejected. Allie doesn’t get why they’re all so upset – boys don’t seem all that great. 

“I think I saw my mark on Harry,” Kelly blurts out all of a sudden. Her face is red, like she’d been bursting at the seams from trying to keep in her secret. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“Ohmygosh,” Gwen says all in one breath, leaning forward. “When?” 

“The other day, when he got into that wrestling match with Clark during lunch. His shirt rode all the way up, and I swear I saw the mark on his shoulder.” She holds up her own arm then, and Allie barely glimpses a black symbol on her wrist before her vision is blocked by six heads all crowding around one small space.

“Wait,” Cassandra says, “Isn’t your soulmate’s mark supposed to be in the same place as yours?” 

But the other girls are too busy ‘oohing’ and ‘awing’ over Kelly’s mark to listen, telling her how she’s just about the luckiest girl in the world to wind up with Harry Bingham, the handsomest of the handsome boys, as her soulmate. 

Allie leans back against Gwen’s bed, resting her chin on her knees. 

She doesn’t care about soulmates. She just wants to go home. 

Years later, after Cassandra stops getting invited to sleepovers and Gwen goes from being Clark’s maybe crush to his real-life girlfriend, Allie thinks about her soulmate mark again. 

She doesn’t know many people her age who’ve already met their soulmates. Just Kelly and Harry, who sit just across from her in the school courtyard now. She’s practically in his lap, giggling about something as he pulls on her ponytail. 

Allie thinks the universe knew what it was doing with that pair. They’re both so pretty – something about them just seems right together. 

A bitter, acidic feeling washes over her then and she looks away from them quickly, back down at the book she’s pretending to read. 

She doesn’t even know what brought on this sudden soulmate introspection. Maybe it had been the talk her mom had finally come around to giving her last weekend – explaining all about how your soulmate was your universal match, the one person on earth with whom you were totally and absolutely meant to be with. 

Some part of Allie thinks it’s bullshit, but a bigger, stupider part of her might actually believe in it. Cassandra’s the realist in the family, Allie’s the romantic. She can’t help but imagine a future with her soulmate, one where she’s someone’s number choice, not just a shadow. 

Sometimes, she thinks that’s the only reason she believes in soulmates. 

Because, if she does, at least someone will have to like her best. 

When she turns fifteen, her brain suddenly realizes that she’s a teenager and hello, hormones. 

Suddenly, boys go from being abstract creatures in the background of her life to people that she thinks about more often than she’d like. Will creeps into her mind too much – which is not good for so many reasons, the number one being that he’s her best friend and she’s terrified of messing that up – but also, weirdly enough, Harry Bingham. 

She blames it on the fact that he’s hot, much more so now at almost seventeen than when they were in middle school, and that he drives a nice car and that he dresses in a preppy but messy way that’s so much easier to appreciate than the classic basketball shorts and t-shirt combo that most guys at their school seem to prefer. 

But he’s also got a girlfriend – one with the universe’s blazing stamp of approval – so she quickly resolves to just shove any of those thoughts to the back of her head and never take them out again. 

After all, she’s not about to fuck with destiny. 

On the second to last day of summer before junior year starts, she asks Will to see his soulmate mark. She wouldn’t normally because he’s always been so closed off about it – about anything personal, really – but he’s lying so close to her on the hammock in her backyard, his lips close enough to kiss if she moved her head even just a millimeter that suddenly, she has to know. 

He freezes up instantly, pulling away so quickly she feels cold at his loss. 

She sits up too, brushing the crumbs from the cookies they’d swiped from the kitchen off of her shorts. For the first time, the air around them doesn’t feel easy and comfortable. 

He puts his hand over leg then, just above his knee, defensive. Like he’s protecting his mark. _From her _.__

__It’s too late, though. She already knows. If his mark is on his leg, he can’t be her soulmate. She hadn’t really thought that the universe would ever be that kind to her, but it still feels like her stomach is in free-fall._ _

__“Why do you want to know?” he asks warily. Then, his expression changes. His eyes go wide, “Allie, do you-?”_ _

__She can’t let him ask the question. Not when he already knows the answer and she already knows his response._ _

__He doesn’t feel the same way._ _

__(No one ever does)._ _

__She jumps off the hammock and takes off, feet bare and eyes blurry with tears._ _

__

__

__Will texts her ten times before she turns off her phone, throwing it into her nightstand drawer. She can’t bear to read his pitiful attempts to friendzone her via text – granted, she hadn’t really given him the opportunity to do it person – not when the blow from this afternoon is still so very painful._ _

__But she can’t stay here either, in her room under the covers with the lights turned off. Cassandra is gone, still off at debate camp until the next morning, and her parents are out to dinner. She needs something to get her mind off of this afternoon, to distract her until she’s strong enough to be able to face Will and laugh it off, pretending like things were okay._ _

__The way she always does._ _

__Reaching into her drawer, Allie carefully extracts her phone and opens up Snapchat without clicking on her texts. There, amid the dozens of stories of her classmates drunkenly partying in some dimly lit backyard, she finds the solution to her problems._ _

__

__

__Allie has never really tried alcohol before – excluding the time she accidentally got buzzed off of her dad’s beer at age eight – but she finds herself accepting the drink a nameless familiar face behind the keg hands her in Luke Holbrook’s backyard._ _

__Taking a deep breath, she swallows the whole thing in gulp. And then she asks for another._ _

__The guy handling drinks eyes her in appreciation. She doesn’t know whether it’s because he just watched her down an entire beer in one take or because her navy-blue bra is totally visible through the thin white shirt she wears._ _

__She doesn’t even know why it stings so much. Deep down, she hadn’t really expected Will to be her soulmate. She likes him a lot, loves him in the surest way she's ever loved anyone outside her family, but there's no real spark there. She doesn't light up whenever he touches her, doesn't chase the feeling of his skin on hers._ _

__She thinks it’s mostly his reaction to her being his soulmate, or at least finding out that she wanted to be. He’d looked...horrified. Like he couldn’t imagine the thought of her being his one._ _

__It had made her angry and upset and most of all, just really fucking sad. Because if even her best friend in the world couldn’t think of her as his soulmate, then what hope does she have?_ _

__Maybe she’s just unlovable. Always destined for second best, never quite managing to climb out of the shadows and find her own light._ _

__Allie feels moisture on her cheeks then, and swipes at the tears angrily. She’s not about to cry here, in this trash littered backyard all the way across town, surrounded by her drunk classmates – most of them either in various stages of hooking up or throwing up._ _

__If she wanted to cry, she could have done that at home._ _

__She’s here to forget why she ever wanted to in the first place._ _

__

__

__As it turns out, Allie is a lightweight._ _

__She ends up chugging two more Red solo cups before her head starts to feel fuzzy and she’s stumbling over her feet._ _

__Stupid Will. Stupid alcohol, too, since apparently it hadn’t done its job properly if she’s still thinking of him. The only thing it had given her was really bad coordination and a weirdly dry mouth._ _

__Allie hadn’t even talked to anyone at the party. The guy at the front door had let her in after taking in how her top clung to her chest and the way her legs looked in a jean skirt, but he’d been the only person to even glance at her since then. No one had approached her, even just to say hi._ _

__It’s funny – she’s surrounded by people she’s known since kindergarten, yet she’s never felt so small, so invisible. She doesn’t even think the universe is aware of her existence._ _

__Great, now she’s getting sad and metaphysical._ _

__Time to go home, Allie, she thinks to herself, and then turns around to head back inside the house._ _

__Only she hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention and she ends up colliding with a very solid body. Allie barely has time to register the impact before she feels a warm liquid slosh across the front of her top, soaking her completely. Her own drink had spilled out of her cup as well, onto the person before her who lets out a loud swear. The stench of cheap beer and cologne fill her nostrils and when she looks up, she curses the universe out nice and long inside her head because its none other than Harry Bingham standing in front of her, a decidedly pissed off look on his face._ _

__“What the fuck?” he asks angrily, and she must really be drunk because she can’t help but think he’s even more hot when he’s pissed off. His expression changes then as he takes in her appearance, something close to shock crossing his face._ _

__When he speaks though, his tone is mocking. “I gotta say I’m surprised to see you here, Pressman. What, did Cassandra loosen your leash for the night?”_ _

__Normally, she would probably either bite back a response or just walk away, knowing to pick her battles. But she’s already hurting and something about the callous way he confirms all her darkest thoughts that she’s nothing but Cassandra’s lapdog is just too much._ _

__She bursts into tears._ _

__Harry’s expression morphs from smug to horrified in the matter of seconds. He casts a look over his shoulder and for a moment, she thinks he’s just going to walk away and leave her there._ _

__Surprising them both, however, he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, cautiously placing his hand on her arm. Her skin feels warm where he’s touching her. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he says in what she thinks is supposed to be a soothing tone. He sounds more uncomfortable than anything, and she wonders if he’s ever had to deal with a crying girl. He’s got a girlfriend, but Kelly Aldrich doesn’t seem like the type of girl who’s ever had anything to shed tears over._ _

__Allie just sniffles, but she does lean into his touch, just the slightest bit. He seems to take this is as an okay sign, because he clears his throat, “Look, uh, I know Luke has some clothes upstairs we can change into. I’ll take you up.”_ _

__He’s being weirdly nice, but she guesses it’s probably because he just wants to ditch her as quickly as possible._ _

__Still, she finds herself nodding and allowing him to lead her upstairs. He navigates Luke’s house easily and Allie recalls them hanging around each other a lot at school. Harry isn’t on the football team, but he does buddy around with the guys who are._ _

__When they approach the first door at the end of the hall, he pushes it open and guides her inside with a hand on the small of her back. If she were Cassandra, she probably would have left by now. But, as life likes to remind her on the regular, she’s not. So, she stays, in this unfamiliar room with this unfamiliar boy who she’s been conditioned for almost all of her life to hate._ _

__Harry is ruffling through one of Luke’s drawers. He pulls out a red, soft-looking hoodie and hands it to her. Her fingers brush his when she takes it, and he pulls back his hand quickly. “Uh, I’ll turn around, so you can change,” he says, his jaw straining as he does so, and she realizes that it’s probably very hard for him not to look at her breasts right now, almost completely visible through the already thin, now soaked white shirt she wears._ _

__Flushing red, she turns around and yanks off the top, tossing it into the trash can beside the dresser (it’s completely ruined, and she doesn’t think she wants any memories of tonight anyway) and pulling on the hoodie. It’s warm and comfortable and she turns around unsteadily when she’s done, shifting precariously. She’s feeling the effects of those drinks acutely now, and her stomach lurches. Harry eyes her like he thinks she might tip over any second but grabs his own t-shirt to change into. He turns around to change, and she pulls the hoodie tighter around herself, ready to thank him and leave before the night can get any worse._ _

__Before she can, though, something stops her in her tracks._ _

__Right on the curve of his left shoulder, in the exact same spot as hers, is a red half-moon._ _

__That can only mean one confusing, messy, fucked-up truth: Harry Bingham is her soulmate._ _

__Allie leans forward and vomits into the trashcan._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry I kind of wrote this story again instead of my other fic. I'm just having fun with this one right now because I'm a sucker for soulmate AU's. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind response to the first chapter!! Especially the people who also commented on my other story, you know I love you :)

The next morning, Allie wakes up to twenty unread text messages and a pounding behind her eyes. The inside of her mouth tastes like stale beer and vomit, her hair is a tangled mess, and, strangely enough, she’d gone to bed wearing nothing but a hoodie that’s half-wet around her chest and one of Cassandra’s jean skirts. 

She sits up in bed for a moment – her mind playing on a continuous loop of ‘what the fuck’ – before the events of last night coming slamming back into her and she kind of wishes she just hadn’t woken up this morning. 

Or, you know, ever again. 

Last night had been so surreal that it had felt like the plot of a TV episode rather than something she’d actually lived through. Now, though, in the sober too bright light of the day, it all comes back to her, becoming more and more clear that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

Even though she’d been wasted, she can still remember the little details of the night – like how Harry’s hands had slid into her hair as she’d puked, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles against the base of her neck, and how his expression had teetered nervously between disgust, pity, and disbelief that he of all people had found himself in this situation. 

After she’d finished and straightened shakily, discreetly wiping at the vomit still clinging to the corner of her mouth, Harry had stepped back. “Do you, uh, have anyone I could call?” he’d asked warily, and she could’ve laughed at the look on his face that clearly screamed _please don’t say Cassandra _.__

__“No,” she’d shaken her head with a little too much force than necessary. “I, um, I came alone.”_ _

__Her parents were spending the night in Hartford – one last couple’s getaway before the school routine started all over again – Cassandra was still up at Princeton, and Will was a big no-no. She'd seen Harry running through the options in his head, glancing uneasily between her and the puke-filled trashcan like he was afraid she’d keel over any second for round two._ _

__“I can take you home,” he’d said finally, his voice straining for kindness that didn't come easy to him. It made sense: Harry Bingham isn’t a nice person, and he’s never pretended otherwise._ _

__“That’s okay,” she’d said immediately, both because it was Harry – who’d probably like burn down her house just to get to Cassandra if she ever told him where they lived – and because she was starting to feel really guilty about the fact that she’d obviously ruined his night. Unlike her, he actually had friends who were probably starting to wonder where West Ham’s unofficial king had disappeared to._ _

__There was also the fact that the mark on his shoulder was screaming a truth that she couldn’t – and didn’t really want to – understand and she was afraid of what would happen if she was alone with him for even just one second longer._ _

__It has to be a mistake, she’d told herself firmly. He’s with Kelly, has been with Kelly, and they’re happy and perfect and she could never, in her wildest dreams, compete with that._ _

__She’d started to leave, pulling up her phone to call an Uber even though that part of her mind that she really hates had already started to jump that story she’d read online the other day about that college student in Georgia or something going missing after taking an Uber at two a.m. Just as her panic mode flickered on, Allie had felt a hand on her arm, and that fucking annoying warmth had spread through her again._ _

__Looking at Harry, she’d wondered if he felt it, too._ _

__“I can take you home,” he’d said firmly. “Really, it’s no big deal.”_ _

__“Why are you being nice to me?” she’d blurted, and she’d been unprepared for the unguarded look that had crossed his face. She’d hardly ever seen Harry Bingham look something other than angry – when arguing with Cassandra – or cocky – literally every other moment in time – so she’d honestly been a little taken back._ _

__“I don’t know,” he’d said, his voice almost a murmur. He’d run a hand through his hair, a gesture she’d grown familiar with while working as the assistant stage manager during last year’s spring play. He’d been the lead, of course, and the hair tug had usually meant he was getting frustrated over a line. “Just...let me do it, okay? I can’t just leave you here.”_ _

__Against her weaker judgment – and her conscience that had sounded weirdly like Cassandra – Allie had allowed him to lead her downstairs with a hand pressed flat against her back. He’d been careful to steer them past the crowds and out the back door, only leaving her side to go around and get into the driver’s seat._ _

__“Wait,” some still-functioning part of her brain had suddenly had an epiphany. “Are you sober?”_ _

__“Yeah,” he’d said with a little laugh. “Most of my first beer ended up all over your shirt.”_ _

__So, she really had ruined in his night. She’d flushed, sinking low in the passenger’s seat and pulling her knees into her chest as she murmured her address. Harry hadn’t looked at her as he drove, focused on the road, only distracted by the occasional flashing of his phone with a text message. She’d only looked once, saw the name Kelly Aldrich across the top of the screen, and glanced away quickly, feeling like she might be sick again._ _

__Harry had, in another turn of shocking events of a night that felt like increasingly like something out of fervid dream, not pulled away from the curb the second he dropped her off in front of her dark house. Maybe it was the way she felt around in her pockets and loudly muttered ‘Fuck’ that had alerted him to her distress._ _

__“Allie?” he’d asked poking his head out the window. A weird shiver had gone through her as she realized that it was probably the first time he’d ever said her name, and fuck, was it weird how much she liked hearing it on his lips? “What’s wrong?”_ _

__“I forgot my keys,” she’d said, close to tears again for the second time that night. Harry had looked up at the sky and she doesn’t know what he’d seen there, but whatever it was, it had him opening up his door and coming around the car until he was standing right in front of her, staring up at her completely dark house._ _

__“Anyone home?” he’d asked without looking at her._ _

__“Nope.” Her voice had sounded small even to her own ears._ _

__He’d taken a moment to survey her house again before suddenly that arrogant, I’m-too-smart-for-my-own-good look had taken over his face. “I've got an idea,” he’d said to her and then he was taking her hand, leading her through the wet grass and over to the house. Some of the alcohol had been starting to wear off, and she’d been hyperaware of how his hand fit in hers – he seemed to like the lacing fingers kind of hand-holding best – and how it felt like she was on fire where her skin touched his. Maybe he’d felt it too, because he’d dropped her hand abruptly and some of his hubris had faded momentarily, his expression shuttering._ _

__“So, what’s your master plan?” she’d asked to break the suddenly awkward silence, folding her arms across her chest._ _

__“Is your window unlocked?” he’d asked, a wicked sort of glint in his eyes as the Harry Bingham she recognized slowly returned._ _

__She’d nodded, really hoping he wasn’t going where she thought he was going._ _

__Of course, he was._ _

__As he’d told her his plan, he’d gotten more and more animated, using his hands to gesture as he spoke. It was the most alive she had ever seen him. It had occurred to her then that Harry was just as smart as Cassandra – maybe even smarter, because her mom had overheard through the PTA grapevine that Harry had gotten a perfect score on his SATS, a full ten points higher than her sister – he just used his talents for different pursuits. Like organizing giant games of fugitive and breaking into the teacher’s lounge for a prank, as opposed to becoming student body president and starting the school’s very first book club._ _

__“Okay, you ready?” Harry had asked her, interrupting her thoughts. She’d looked at him then, wearing a t-shirt that was a little too big for him – he wasn’t actually that tall, she’d realized for the first time, his personality just made him seem larger than life – and conspiring in her driveway at two a.m., and it had made her feel just a little bit too much for him to be someone she’s supposed to hate._ _

__“Yeah,” she’d said, aiming for nonchalance. He’d nodded, stepping back and cupping his hands for her to step into. She’d blushed as she did so, half-afraid of hurting him with her weight and half-mortified that he could probably see up her skirt and oh god, what kind of underwear had she worn that day?_ _

__Harry’s grip had been tight on her ankle as he helped her slide her leg onto the edge of the roof right below her window, murmuring “Easy” when she slipped ever so slightly, banging her knee against the side trellis. Once she was up and, on her feet, though, they’d realized that they had another problem: she was too short to reach the window._ _

__“Fuck,” Allie had sworn, feeling so disappointed she could cry again. The wonderment of the night had been beginning to wear off as the effects of the alcohol faded, leaving her wanting nothing more than to climb into her warm bed in her rattiest, most comfortable pair of pajamas._ _

__“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry had said, and then bit his lip. Before she could blink, he’d grabbed onto the trellis and slowly started scaling it like he was fucking Spiderman or something. When he’d reached the roof, he’d winked at her and said in a voice that was decidedly way too flirty for a guy who had a girlfriend, “Don’t look so surprised, Pressman. I’m a man of many talents.”_ _

__They'd both seemed to realize their situation then, though, because he’d sobered. Jumping up, he’d managed to grab onto her window sill and haul himself up – again, since when did Harry Bingham have the upper body strength of an undercover superhero? – unlocking her window and sliding inside her room. It had given her pause – Harry inside her room, where she was sure her bed was unmade and there was a least one bra littering the floor – but she hadn’t had time to dwell on it before he was holding out his hand and pulling her up. He’d underestimated his strength, however, because his last yank was a little too hard and sent her stumbling right into him. They’d landed in a jumbled mess on the floor of her bedroom – right next to yep, she’d guessed it, a bra – with her sprawled out across his chest and one of his hands under her sweatshirt, splayed across her back._ _

__When she’d met his gaze, their warmth breaths mingling as they both tried to get their bearings, there had been a million thoughts running through her mind._ _

__How bad it would be if Cassandra ever found out about this, how he had a girlfriend and she should definitely get up because if there’s one thing Allie Pressman will never be it’s a homewrecker, and how much she suddenly needed to pee._ _

__Most of all, though, she’d been thinking about how she could get Harry Bingham to touch her like this again because it had felt like her entire body was buzzing, radiating out from where his index finger brushed across her spine._ _

__“Uh,” Harry had moved slightly, and it had been enough to send her rushing to her feet, stumbling slightly as she attempted to kick the bra under her bed. He’d seen but hadn’t commented. Instead, he'd suddenly started avoiding her eyes._ _

__“I, um, I’m gonna go,” he’d said, and the reality of who they were and what was expected of them had been crushing. They were returning to their usual roles: her as Cassandra’s shadow and him as her number one enemy, making him, by extension, Allie’s as well._ _

__“Okay,” she’d squeaked, stepping back to let him leave. He’d chosen window as his exit route even though he could have easily just walked out the front door. But that wasn’t Harry Bingham’s style. “Thank you. For tonight.”_ _

__He hadn’t responded, swinging back down to the ground with practiced ease, probably eager to return to where his girlfriend and his real life awaited._ _

__She would be lying if she said it hadn’t hurt to see him go._ _

__Oh God, Allie thinks now, flopping back down against the pillow and burying her head in the crook of her elbow. She's so completely fucked._ _

__She doesn’t have much time to think about that, though, because there’s a knock at her door, timid at first then louder because she knows it’s Cassandra on the other side and timid isn’t even in her vocabulary._ _

__“Hey,” Cassandra wanders in cautiously, and Allie is suddenly so, so grateful to see her. She’s familiar and warm and comforting in her jean cutoffs that could be from the seventies and sunny yellow blouse, and Allie doesn’t even think before she throws herself at her, Cassandra barely managing to keep them both upright as she wraps her arms around her neck. She smells like perfume and Kiehl’s shampoo, and Allie has never loved her more because Cassandra is all sensibility and normalcy and that’s exactly what she needs right now after the night she’s had._ _

__“I missed you so much,” Allie breathes as they both settle down against the pillows on her bed and she really, really means it._ _

__“Me too,” Cassandra says with a smile, squeezing her hand._ _

__“So, how was debate camp?” Allie says eagerly, hoping to distract her sister before she can ask about her summer, which mostly consisted of Netflix marathons and eating too much ice cream and the fucking mess that was last night. Before Cassandra had left she’d urged Allie to look into summer internships, and she can’t bear to disappoint her sister so early in the morning._ _

__But, as she watches Cassandra take in the way she looks, she thinks she already has._ _

__“We’ll get to that,” her sister says gently, “But first...I heard something about you, Allie.”_ _

__“What is it?” Allie asks, throwing off the covers as she turns fully to face her sister. No one had seen her and Harry last night, thankfully, but maybe Will had texted her about their sort of fight. He was known to go to her for advice when things got difficult– most people did, Cassandra was an excellent voice of reason._ _

__“There’s a rumor going around that you spilled your beer all over Harry Bingham and then puked right in front of him at Luke Holbrook’s party last night,” Cassandra keeps her words slow and careful, deliberate._ _

__Allie feels like someone has punched her in the chest. Even if other people had seen her bump into Harry, no one had been there when she’d thrown up in Luke’s room._ _

__Except Harry. Which means he’d had to have started the rumor himself._ _

__“Allie.” Cassandra looks at her very seriously. “It’s not true, is it?”_ _

__“How did you hear?” she asks instead._ _

__“I went out to grab us breakfast when I got back, and I heard some girls talking about it at the coffee shop. Apparently, Harry told everyone you were quite a mess last night.” Cassandra’s tone doesn’t hold back on disgust._ _

__“Is that all he said – that I spilled my beer and puked on him?” She can’t even look at her sister._ _

__“Yeah...” Cassandra sounds confused now. “Why, is there more to the story?”_ _

__It makes sense, in a way, that he’d leave out the part where he held her hair back and drove her home and was kinder to her than she would have ever thought he was capable of. It doesn’t fit with his image._ _

__Harry is a dick, and if this morning has taught her anything, it’s that he’s never going to change._ _

__You can have him, Kelly, she thinks, allowing Cassandra to pull her into a hug. I don’t want him. And he certainly doesn’t want me._ _

__

__

__Irritatingly, getting Harry Bingham out of her head is definitely easier said than done._ _

__School had started back earlier that day – meaning no more 11 a.m. wake ups and staying in her pajamas all day and sneaking Will into her room for horror movie marathons – and Allie’s already sure that eleventh grade is about to be the worst year of her life._ _

__Not only is it the year of SATs and squeezing in as many AP classes as she can without making her brain explode and forming actual, meaningful relationships with her teachers so they’ll have something to put in her recommendation letters next fall, it’s also clear from day one that Harry’s big mouth has shifted her social status from nobody to nobody who can’t handle her liquor._ _

__She doesn’t know how many times she’s had to resist shouting back at someone who’d called out a mean jeer on her way through the halls today, Cassandra’s soothing hand at her back the only thing keeping her temper in check._ _

__“They’ll forget about it soon enough,” Cassandra had said firmly in the bathroom she’d pulled them into just before first bell because her spidey sister sense must have alerted her to how dangerously close to tears Allie was. “Don’t worry.”_ _

__Allie had had no choice to believe her, because Cassandra was hardly ever wrong. It was one of the best and most annoying things about her._ _

__Part of Allie had wanted to go up to Harry and ask him why, but she’d quickly shut that idea down when she’d walked out of her history class and spotted him holding court in front of the senior lockers, surrounded by the football team and their girlfriends, Kelly in his lap._ _

__Then and there, she’d vowed to never think about him ever again._ _

__Only now she’s sitting on her laptop in the library during her free period with the query ‘is it possible to have two soulmates’ open on the search engine in front of her._ _

__Because, try as she might, she hasn’t been able to get the image of Harry’s shoulder out of her head. It was like someone had taken an exact picture of her mark and tattooed it right on him. She should know – she’d spent a solid hour trying to look at hers in the mirror last night, making sure what she’d seen hadn’t been a fluke._ _

__There’s not much on soulmates out there – it’s a concept weirdly shrouded in secrecy, given how almost everyone has one – and the literature is especially scarce on having two. But Harry Bingham apparently does._ _

__Kelly has been claiming he’s hers since they were eleven, and yet, she’d seen her own mark on his skin just two nights ago._ _

__Or had she?_ _

__Allie closes her laptop with a frustrated sigh, eliciting a sharp glance from the librarian._ _

__It’s pretty clear what she has to do now: sneak another peek at Harry’s soulmate mark._ _

__

__

__Unsurprisingly, planning her recon mission had been a lot more appealing than her pre calc homework last night – seriously who assigns homework on the first day of school? – so by the time Allie creeps into school at six-thirty, she both has a plan and is seriously sleep-deprived from waking up at four to finish the last couple of problems._ _

__Cassandra, she thinks, is beginning to realize that something’s up with her. She’d been looking at her weirdly during dinner and had asked her a couple of times if something was wrong. Allie had deflected every time, feeling guilty because she really does hate lying to her sister._ _

__But, hopefully, this mission will prove that she was wrong about Harry’s soulmate mark and then she can banish him from her mind permanently and never have to lie to Cassandra about him again._ _

__She rubs her necklace – the star one her grandma had given her for her twelfth birthday – between her fingers for luck and sets off. School doesn’t officially start until eight, but she knows that the gym facilities are open to athletes beginning at five. Harry isn’t on a team – not since he quit soccer two years ago – but she knows from hearing Cassandra complain about he sometimes shows up to first period late and sweaty that he does work out in the mornings._ _

__I’m not a creeper, she tells herself sternly as she makes her way outside the boy’s locker room. This is for a good cause: my sanity._ _

__And anyway, any sign of anything more than a shirtless chest, she’s out._ _

__The door to the boys' locker room is surprisingly unlocked, and Allie breathes a prayer of thanks to whoever is up there as she slips inside. It’s cleaner than she would have anticipated, and thankfully smells less like overwhelmingly fragrant perfume than the girls’. Granted, that should have been a given._ _

__Allie had checked out the weight room before coming in here, so she knows Harry must either be in here or at the pool. She thinks he’s a little bit too vain to allow chlorine to damage his carefully careless dark curls, so she’s put her money on locker room. Hopefully, she’s not wrong._ _

__On her tiptoes, Allie slips past rows of lockers until she reaches the first set, where those with A and B last names have been assigned._ _

__And, sure enough, rummaging through his locker with hair still wet from his shower and only clad in his boxers, is Harry Bingham._ _

__At the sight of him, Allie suddenly rethinks her idea. It feels way too personal, seeing him so undressed in such a private moment. If someone had done this to her, she’d probably feel violated._ _

__She’s stepping back when suddenly Harry turns around, his back to her as he pulls his shirt over his head. And it’s never been clearer as it is now under the fluorescent lighting of the locker room: Harry’s soulmate mark matches hers exactly._ _

__Fuck, Allie thinks, for two reasons._ _

__1\. So. Harry Bingham is her soulmate.  
2\. The entire football team has just finished practice and has started to stream into the locker room. _ _

__She turns quickly on her heel, hoping to backtrack her steps without getting caught. Her plan quickly fails, however, as Luke steps into the row of lockers she’s ducking behind, talking animatedly to Jason over his shoulder. The moment he looks up, she’s done._ _

__Only someone’s hand lands on her shoulder, pulling her out of sight. Allie barely catches sight of floppy hair before she’s being yanked along, pulled down a path she hadn’t noticed before but one that thankfully has an exit door._ _

__“Grizz?” she asks in disbelief as she shoves through the doors and leans back against the wall, her heart thundering in her chest as her apparent savior reclines next to her, also out of breath from their near escape._ _

__“Hey, Allie,” he says, flashing his familiar sweet smile._ _

__Grizz is probably the only guy from the football team who she actually likes. He’d been in her art class last year – the only guy to take the course over the business class they were offering the same period – and his easel had been right next to hers. They’d bonded over how shitty they both were at landscapes, and from him, she’d developed her intense love of flavor-blasting Goldfish, his go-to snack that he always shared with her._ _

__Now, however, she winces. “You probably want an explanation, huh?”_ _

__But Grizz just shakes his head. “I think I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t lurk in the boy’s locker room for no reason. It’s your business, Allie, I’m not going to judge you.”_ _

__If every guy were like Grizz, Allie thinks, then half the world’s problems might just cease to exist. Most high school problems, at least._ _

__She squeezes his arm, hoping it translates her gratitude. “Thanks, Grizz. For the escape route and for, uh, the non-judgement thing, I guess.”_ _

__He grins back bright and brilliant, then nods down at his shirtless frame. “I should probably go grab a shower.” He touches her shoulder gently as he pushes open the door back into the locker room, “Stay out of trouble, kid.”_ _

__“No promises,” she says with a laugh, ready to get on her way back home to where she’s going to have to think of a way to sneak back in without Cassandra or her parents noticing, when she catches sight of Grizz’s own soulmate mark, low on his back._ _

__She can’t help but think she’s seen it before._ _

__Whatever, she thinks to herself, starting the long walk out of school and back home. Evidently, she has enough of her own soulmate problems to deal with._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and kudos!! It makes my day :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst, you guys. You've been warned.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering why Harry is nice to her in the beginning of the chapter even though he apparently told everyone about what happened at Luke's party, that's explained later in the chapter and keep in mind we heard about that through Cassandra goggles ;)

The next time Allie sees her soulmate, they’re sixteen days into the new school year and everyone is buzzing about the Homecoming Dance. 

Well, that’s not exactly true. She actually sees Harry all the time – sitting in the courtyard at lunch (sometimes at the center of a group, sometimes just with Kelly), at his locker in the mornings, for those thirty brief seconds as his senior AP Lit class trudges out of the third-floor English classroom while her class hurriedly makes their way in – but it’s the first time she actually says something to him, rather than just shuffling past with her hair covering her face to avoid eye contract. 

She doesn’t really know what possesses her to do it. Admittedly, she’s already having a shit day. She’s pretty sure she just failed her first math test of the year – one that was supposed to be on review material from last year, but it’s not Allie’s fault that Mr. Stein had apparently spent all eight months of tenth grade teaching them nothing of what they actually need to know for pre-calc– and Will had bailed on her for lunch. Again. 

They’d slowly started to get their friendship back on track after that disaster of a conversation about his soulmate mark, but it still doesn’t feel the same. There’s all these weird pauses and awkward silences and moments where she doesn’t know what he’s thinking now, and she fucking hates it. 

The one thing she’s always loved about Will is how easy their friendship is. With him, she never has to try to measure up to her sister like she does with her parents or pretend to be a more responsible and grown-up Allie the way she has to with Cassandra. She can just be. 

But apparently that’s gone, washed away in the carnage of soulmate marks. 

So, when Allie spots Harry walking to his car after school one day, his entourage and his girlfriend surprisingly absent, her inner masochist calls out to him. She’s pissed off and sad and tired of missing Will when he’s right next to her, and so she seeks Harry out for the first time since discovering he was her soulmate because, honestly, how much more damage can he really do? 

He stops when he hears her, twirling his keys in his hand in a way that he probably thinks is smooth but comes off more as a nervous habit. He’s definitely lacking some of his usual cool as he turns to face her, and she thinks there might even be something close to guilt on his face as he takes in her appearance. 

“Pressman,” he says easily, his voice – as always – contrasting with his expression. His face is so emotive, she thinks. It can’t fake it even when the rest of him does. “What can I do for you?” 

She falters. Honestly, she doesn’t even know. She just feels like shit, and she needs him to make it go away. 

“I need a distraction,” she states bluntly, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “Can you help me with that?” 

The Allie of last month would have cowered at the thought of speaking so boldly to a hot, popular senior who she barely knows, especially Harry Bingham. But she’s been emboldened by the last couple of weeks, and suddenly she has this strange, inescapable urge to just fuck some shit up. 

One of the few guarantees everyone has in life is their soulmate. Allie doesn’t even have that. The universe screwed her over – she thinks she deserves the chance to screw it right back. 

She expects Harry to scoff or look at her like she’s crazy. Instead, he just lifts up the corner of his mouth slightly, appearing more impresssed than anything. 

“I think so,” he says carefully, and he’s fully smiling now. “Wanna go for a drive?” 

Sitting in the passenger’s seat of Harry Bingham’s black Maserati for the second time in under a month, Allie feels like she’s standing outside of her own skin, looking in. 

They don’t talk about how, because of him, she spent her first week of school being pointed at in hallways and laughed about behind her back, or about how Cassandra has already texted her twice about where she is, or about how there’s a definite absence of Kelly in this car when, half a month ago, traces of her had been everywhere – from the jacket strewn across the backseat to the lingering scent of perfume in the air. 

It strikes her then that part of the reason they don’t speak is that they don’t really know each other. Like, at all. She’s lived in the same town as him for sixteen years and yet he’s a stranger in her life and she’s no better in his. 

She wonders why he’s even sitting here with her, when he could be anywhere else. She knows why she’s here – the evidence burns on her skin – but Harry doesn’t have that key piece of information. 

Allie thinks a part of it is because he sees her as yet another avenue to piss off Cassandra – corrupting her little sister. Some of her hopes, though, that it’s because he feels it, too, even without knowing why: this electric sensation between them. 

While she’s lost in thought, Harry turns on the radio and rolls down both windows, pulling out of the parking lot. She doesn’t know where they’re going, and she doesn’t ask. It’s a crisp fall afternoon, one of the last nice days of the year, Allie suspects, and she takes full advantage by sticking her head out the window and letting the breeze ruffle her already-messy curls. 

“You’re crazy,” Harry tells her when she narrowly misses decapitation-via-stop sign, pulling her in by the edge of her shirt, but she thinks she hears a smile in his voice. 

Truth be told, she doesn’t really know what to feel about Harry Bingham. On one hand, he’s exactly the type of guy that Cassandra has always warned her about – selfish and arrogant and occasionally even cruel. But, when he’s with her, all of that seems to fade away and it actually feels like the universe knew what it was doing when it printed her mark on his skin. 

Sometimes, like right this instance, she just wants to blurt it out: You’re my soulmate. But the rational part of her brain, the portion she shares in common with Cassandra, seems to realize the immense stupidity in confessing that to a boy who’s already met his other half. 

Maybe it’s like that story about Solomon, with the two mothers. Only Harry is the baby. She and Kelly can’t split him in half, obviously, so Allie has to be the one to just let him go. 

Does that make her his true soulmate? Or is it Kelly, the girl he looks at with stars in his eyes while he never really looks at Allie at all? 

Allie feels a headache coming on then. This is the opposite of what she’d meant when she’d said she needed a distraction. 

Sitting up – and vowing to put all talk of soulmates out of her head, even if just for this afternoon - she fiddles with the radio, flicking through one random pop song after another until finally, One Direction’s ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ is blaring through the car. 

Harry tips his head back and lets out a loud groan. “I’m not listening to this crap,” he says, reaching for the dial to change the station when they pull up at a stop light. She swats his hand away easily. 

“Yes, you are. And you’re singing along, too.” Something about this song has always made her feel carefree and giddy, and judging by the small grin Harry is trying to hide, she thinks the effect might just be universal. 

“I don’t know the words,” he says, and she knows he’s lying. 

“You have a terrible poker face, Bingham,” she tells him, and then the chorus comes on and she cups her hand around her mouth like a microphone as she sings ‘Baby, you light up my world like nobody else’ – her voice loud and off-key and uneven with laughter. 

Harry hesitates and for a moment, she feels ridiculous – the sense of inhibition that had been numbed by her anger at the universe suddenly creeping back in – but then a smirk creeps over his face, and he sings back, ‘The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed.’ He flicks her curls as he does so, and she rolls her eyes at his voice – smooth and rich and baritone – and thinks that, of course, he’d be good at this, too. 

They sing the next lines together, ‘You don’t know, oh oh, you don’t know you’re beautiful,’ off-pitch and bridled with laughter and it’s the closest in weeks Allie’s felt to happy and she thinks that maybe this is why people say prayers at night and whisper when they talk about their marks and wait weeks and months and decades just to meet their soulmates. 

It’s for that feeling that you’re all lit up inside, and you’ll never know darkness again. 

When Harry pulls up at a cupcake store on the outskirts of town, Allie raises an eyebrow. The storefront is pink, and the logo is written in goddamn glitter script and the best description that she can come up with is ‘place that Harry Bingham would never be caught dead in, ever.’

He rolls his eyes when she tells him this, but then he takes her hand in his and all other thoughts fly out the window. 

He holds open the door for her when they walk in an uncharacteristic move, and he must see her incredulous look because he mutters, “What? Chivalry isn’t dead, you know.” 

She just smirks, “I’m surprised you even know what that is.” 

“It was an SAT word,” he says with a wink, and then pulls her inside the store. It’s equally girly on the inside, with a menu printed in bubble letters and signs advertising milkshakes with bendy straws in addition to cupcakes covered in “fairy dust” (aka sprinkles). 

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better,” she remarks as they wait in line, “But you do know I’m not five years old, right?” 

He flicks his gaze over her in a way that makes her face feel hot, his tone a teasing drawl as he replies, “I don’t know. You’re pretty short.” 

At that, she smacks his arm. “I’m five foot four and a half, you jackass. That’s perfectly average height in the U.S. And you’re like what, five inches taller than me?” She moves so she’s face to face with him, using her hand to demonstrate exactly where she measures up to him. The top of her head brushes his chin. He has a cut on his jaw from shaving, she notes absently, her skin humming from being so near to him.

It’s fucking bizarre that she’s never noticed this before, the way her body responds to his. He must feel it, too, she thinks, watching as he shifts back on forth on his feet. 

Before she can say something stupid or reach out and kiss that little scar like she’s been aching to do since the moment she noticed it, it’s their turn to order. She lets Harry order for her because she’d been so caught up in him that she hadn’t even looked at the menu and feels pleasantly surprised when he gets two peanut butter fudge, one strawberry, one red velvet, two chocolate lava.

“Vanilla cupcakes are nasty,” he says by way of explanation for him completely skipping over that section of the menu. 

She nods, “Yeah, but vanilla ice cream is the best.” 

He holds a hand over his chest, “You get me, Pressman.” 

She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress her smile. 

They sit outside on the bench to eat their cupcakes, both of them picking out chocolate lava first. It’s good – much better than she’d expected – and she lets out a small groan as the melty filling explodes inside her mouth. Harry laughs a little at that, but it’s hard to feel like she’s being made fun of when he’s the one who has chocolate frosting on his cheek. 

She wonders if she should tell him. Nah, she thinks, settling back against the bench as he reaches for his second. He looks cute with it there, his handsomeness slightly less intimidating. 

“So, how did you find this place?” she asks. 

“My little sister,” he says around a mouthful of cupcake. “She’s obsessed with it. I always bring her here after her karate tournaments.” 

That makes her feel much too soft inside then it should, so she looks away from him quickly. “Sarah, right? I’ve seen her around a couple of times with your mom. She looks like you.” 

He smirks. “Yeah, and she gets into even more trouble. My mom’s gonna have her hands full when she’s my age.” He’s careful not to mention his dad, and Allie remembers suddenly that he’d died, just two months ago. On the surface level, Harry seems the same. Deep down, she’s not so sure. She doesn’t think anyone can just carry on after losing someone like that, no matter what kind of façade they want to put on for the world. 

“I can’t imagine anyone getting into more trouble than you,” Allie says teasingly. “Didn’t you like set a record for number of detentions served in one year?” 

“One hundred and seventy-seven,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. He’s too proud and Allie likes him too much. “It should have been more, but my mom got the principal to shave some off.” 

“I’ve never gotten a detention before,” she admits, shoving her hand underneath her thigh because the air has suddenly gone from pleasantly cool to chilly. She thinks Harry notices, because he shifts ever closer to her on the bench, as though trying to transfer a little bit of his warmth. 

He looks like he can't quite believe she's for real. “Not one?” 

“Well, once in sixth grade. I talked back to the teacher after she gave me the wrong grade on this test.” It had been totally unfair; she’d had the same exact answer as the girl who sat behind her. She thinks the teacher just hated her because Cassandra had been known for correcting her when she was in the class. 

“It looks like there's hope for you yet,” Harry says, and she’s suddenly warm all over. 

They’re quieter on the drive back, and Allie wonders exactly what she thinks she’s doing. 

Hanging out with Harry is dangerous. He’s her soulmate, sure, but she can’t ever tell him that. She’s only setting herself up for heartbreak when he inevitably graduates in May, leaving behind West Ham for a new and happy life with his true soulmate Kelly by his side. 

It’s hard to think about any of that, though, when the car rolls to a slow stop a block down from her house and Harry cuts the low music that had been playing. He looks at her then, his face too close and yet not close enough. 

“So, was that a good enough distraction for you, Pressman?” He’s too sure of himself, but it doesn’t endear him to her any less, especially when he still has that splotch of chocolate frosting on his cheek. 

“Hm,” she pretends to think it over. “I’d give it a seven.” 

“A seven?” he looks mock-offended. “Give me a break. I’m the best distraction you’ve ever met.” 

He’s right, but she doesn’t want him to know that. Instead, she just laughs, shaking her head. “You know you look ridiculous right?” 

He scoffs, “Ridiculous? I think you mean unbelievably handsome, sexy, hot-”

“Harry,” she says softly, and then reaches out and swipes the frosting off his cheek, sucking her finger into her mouth. His eyes track her movement and god, she can’t think when he’s looking at her like that. 

“I can’t believe you let me walk around like that for a whole hour,” he grumbles, fake-wounded as he holds a hand up to his heart like she’s just stabbed him. 

She wants to laugh – wants to kiss him more – but suddenly it feels dangerous. He’s not hers, and she’s filled with an abrupt, white-hot burst of anger at that stupid fucking mark for making her think that one day maybe he could be. 

“I have to go,” she says, looking away, and his smile fades. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone level. She can tell he’s worried though – he thinks he’s done something wrong. Her heart squeezes painfully. She wishes that they could just stay in these roles forever, that she could just be a girl sitting in the car of the boy she likes, waiting for him to lean over and kiss her. 

But the spell is over, the magic long gone. 

She’s Allie Pressman, second best even to her own fucking soulmate, and he’s Harry Bingham, the most popular guy in school and her should-be mortal enemy. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, wobbly and fake. She reaches over before she can stop herself, squeezing his hand tight. “I had fun today. Thank you.” 

Surprisingly, he holds onto her fingers for a second longer. “So did I.” 

And then she’s out of the car and walking away fast enough that she won’t be tempted to look back. 

She does anyway. 

The next week at school, she and Harry are strangers again. 

She eats lunch with Will and pretends like she’s really the one he wants to be talking to, even as he constantly checks his texts, smiling at every new message that appears on his screen. She sees Kelly's name out of the corner of her eye and her heart breaks for both Will and herself - in the same boat, even if he's not aware of it.

She gets the math test back and while it’s not great, it’s also not as bad as she’d expected. She does get an A on her English essay, though, and her mom is so proud that she hangs it up on the fridge with a magnet like she’s a first grader who’s just brought home a new drawing. Allie still likes it though – it makes her feel nice whenever she goes into the kitchen. 

Even if it’s nothing compared to the whole wall of Cassandra’s awards hanging up in the study. 

On Friday, she goes homecoming dress shopping with Becca since their respective best friends (if she can even call Will that anymore) are obviously not up for it. She doesn’t even know if she’s planning on going – no one is exactly lining up to ask her – but Becca is insistent she buy a dress. 

She ends up buying a short blue dress that matches her eyes. It’s sleeveless with a more daring V-neck than she usually goes for but Becca tells her to live a little, and so she squashes her qualms and forks over fifty dollars at the register. Becca’s dress is black and slightly poofy and exactly her. 

Afterwards, they go out for dinner and it’s unexpectedly nice. She loves Will, but she misses having a close girlfriend like this, someone to whom she can so casually mention that her period cramps are killing or confide in about which boys she thinks are cute.

During moments like that, Allie thinks: Fuck soulmates. She doesn’t need the universe to tell her who makes her happy.

But then she’ll see Kelly standing by Harry’s locker at school, pressing a kiss to his lips when the bell rings and she has to go, and it’s not a particularly passionate kiss but a quick, we-kiss-all-the-time kind of kiss and honestly, that’s worse. 

She’ll always look away then, focusing on something, anything else and telling herself that one day, she’ll learn how to live with this ache. 

Homecoming arrives in a blur of tests, quizzes, and avoiding Harry. 

Cassandra – chair of the Homecoming committee – leaves a whole two hours before Allie to set up, so she’s on her own to do her makeup and get ready. Like she’d expected, no one had asked her. 

But it’s okay, she tells herself. Tonight is about her, not a boy. 

It doesn’t stop her from feeling cold and lonely as she puts on her pretty blue dress all alone in her empty house. Her parents are away, visiting her sick grandma for the weekend. She straightens her hair and then curls it again so it’s nice and tamed instead of wild and knotted like her usual waves. She keeps the makeup light, only bothering with mascara, concealer, and blush. Both her attempts at eyeliner had been pathetic, so she’d wiped them off and just never worked up the motivation to try again. 

She wouldn’t say she’s pretty – that’s a word reserved for girls like Kelly and Helena Wu, girls with boyfriends to kiss and take to things like this – but she thinks she looks okay. 

She’s been trying to keep her spirits high, but by the time she’s ready to go, she’s failing miserably. Will isn’t responding to her texts, and she’d made the mistake of checking Gwen’s Instagram story: inevitably, it was a group shot of her friend group and their dates, including Kelly and Harry. 

He’d looked hot – his curls carefully gelled back, his shirt unwrinkled and his collar not lopsided for once – but she hadn’t been able to look at it for more than a couple of seconds. 

Those seconds had apparently been too long because suddenly she feels irrationally sad and angry and the dance seems like the last place she wants to be. She’s too tired of pretending like she’s okay with Will’s half-attention, like it doesn’t kill her to watch Harry watch Kelly like she’s everything, like she’s not still so pissed off at the universe it feels like she’s folding under the weight of it. 

Her phone buzzes then, momentarily distracting her. It’s Cassandra – Hey, where are you? The dance started an hour ago. 

If Allie could stomach disappointing her sister – who’d poured hours into this dance, only for the majority of their classmates just to stay two hours, sneaking booze all the while, before ditching for some after party – she would have stripped off her dress and stayed home.

Instead, she picks up her clutch, paints on a smile, and calls an Uber. 

While she’s waiting, she may or may not creep into her dad’s study and down the remaining whiskey in the bottle he keeps stashed under his desk. 

If Allie should have learned one thing from the last month, it’s that alcohol and social events do not mix well for her. This rings true the moment she steps into Homecoming and quickly decides that it’s too loud, too bright, too much. 

She wants to turn around and leave but of course Cassandra catches sight of her instantly, waving her over. She’s standing next to a tall brunette who Allie realizes belatedly – i.e. when it’s too late to run in the opposite direction – is Kelly, with Harry on her arm. 

Homecoming king and queen. How fucking fitting. The prettiest girl in school, and her soulmate. Allie doesn’t even get to be the winner in what should be her own love story. 

“Hey, you’re finally here!” Cassandra exclaims when she reaches her, unconsciously reaching out to smooth an invisible wrinkle on Allie’s dress. The gesture grates on her already badly frayed nerves. 

“Yep,” Allie says, popping the ‘p.’ Cassandra is nothing if not perceptive because she immediately seems to sense something is wrong, narrowing her eyes. “Is everything okay?” she asks uneasily, and Allie doesn’t get a chance to reply before she feels a tap on her shoulder and Kelly is smiling at her. 

“Hi, Allie, you look so pretty,” Kelly says with a smile and next to her, Harry looks so, so uncomfortable. His gaze flicks up and down her body once, not slowly. 

In truth, Allie likes Kelly. She’s sweet and kind and enthusiastic, and the only thing she’s ever done to Allie is be the girl that both of the guys she wants want instead. 

So, gritting her teeth, she smiles back. “So do you.” She stumbles a little bit then, gripping Cassandra’s arm to steady herself. She thinks she pulls it off well enough, but from the way all three of them stare at her, she’s not so sure. 

“I hate these heels,” she says with a nervous laugh and Kelly nods unsurely. Harry is still staring at her, and she thinks he might actually be concerned about her if he’s been in proximity of Cassandra for two minutes without firing off a snarky comment. 

“I’m gonna go,” she says, needing to get away from Harry’s unreadable expression and Kelly’s exhausting sweetness and Cassandra’s questioning gaze. Without waiting for a response, she walks away in as even a line as possible given her state. 

Fuck. How much had been left in that bottle? She’d just been looking for some liquid courage, not a repeat of Luke’s party. 

A quick sweep of the room tells her that Will hadn’t shown up, even though he’d promised her he would for moral support. She’s used to him breaking promises nowadays though. 

Becca and Sam are dancing together by the punch bowl, too cute for her to interrupt. Grizz catches her eye and gives her a half-smile and a wave but before he can come over to her, he’s intercepted by a brunette senior Allie vaguely recognizes. 

Allie wonders if being the sad, lonely drunk in the room is going to become a regular gig for her. 

She’s getting ready to call it a night and disappear, feigning a headache to Cassandra, when she feels a hand slide across her waist. For one stupid, hopeful minute, she thinks it’s Harry. Instead, she finds herself being whirled around and coming face to face with Clark Beecher. 

He and Gwen have been on-and-off for years and if the way he’s groping her waist tells her anything, it’s currently off. 

If she were slightly less unhappy or slightly less tipsy, she might have pushed him away. Instead, she pulls him closer. They’re playing a slow song now, the lights dim and most of the students indistinguishable amidst the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Allie takes a deep breath and buries her head in Clark’s shoulder, allowing herself to pretend for one fleeting moment that he’s someone else. 

Of course, that doesn’t last because Clark quickly starts nudging her neck, forcing her mouth up, towards his. 

And the funny thing is, she doesn’t stop him then either. 

She’s spent most of the night watching Harry slow dance with Kelly or fetch her drinks or kiss her cheeks in photographs and she’s jealous and nauseous, a little miserable and a lot lonely. Clark is the opposite of what she wants but if his kiss can alleviate even a little bit of the way she’s feeling inside, she’ll take it. 

He’s a messy kisser, not that Allie has much experience. He uses too much tongue and at one-point Allie swears his teeth are in the mix. But his hands feel kind of nice where they slide up and down her back and it feels good to be this close to someone, to feel a heart beat against hers, even if they aren’t in sync. 

When Clark whispers in her ear about if she wants to get out of there, Allie hesitates. She casts a quick glance over her shoulder. 

Harry is laughing as he pulls Kelly close, her hands looped around his neck. He’s not even looking in her direction. 

Fuck it. If her soulmate isn’t going to touch her, why can’t someone else? 

Clark’s hand is sweaty in hers as he leads her out of the gym, and she quickly averts her gaze when she sees the teacher chaperone by the doors is none other than her English teacher. She feels oddly ashamed, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on that before Clark is pulling her down the hall, towards the back entrance of the school where his car is parked. 

She knows how tonight ends, and she’s too numb and too tired to really do anything besides play along. 

They’re almost to the doors when she hears a voice call out behind her. She turns around to see Harry standing there, his blazer unbuttoned, and his face flushed. From dancing or something else, she doesn’t know. 

“Where are you guys going?” he asks, his gaze flickering slowly between the car keys in Clark’s left hand and her hand intertwined with his right. 

“Where do you think, dude?” Clark asks with a snicker, nodding at Allie like she’s not even there. She feels Harry’s eyes sweep over her, no doubt registering the tell-tale glassiness of her eyes and the way she sways slightly just from standing up. 

“Clark, let go of her,” Harry says and suddenly he’s not Mr. Everybody Loves Me anymore, but a harder, colder version of himself that Allie scarcely recognizes. His voice grinds like stone and he steps forward like he’s going to physically separate them. 

“Harry, what the hell? This was her idea.” Clark’s beginning to get upset, red splotches appearing on her cheeks. 

“I don’t care, man. _Fuck off _.”__

There’s something dangerous about him now, all barely controlled anger and a vein twitching in his neck. She thinks Clark recognizes this, and fears it, because he drops her hand like it’s burning, holding up his arms in surrender and stalking back into the gym. 

Something softens in Harry’s gaze once he leaves, the fight going out of him as he turns to her. “Let’s get you home, Pressman.” 

Suddenly, she’s the one who’s pissed off. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She folds her arms over her chest, barely conscious of the way her voice rises, tinged with furious anger, “What the hell was that, Harry?” 

His eyes grow cold. “You’re drunk, and he was going to take advantage of you. I was trying to help.” 

Well, maybe I wanted to go home with him!” Her eyes flash as she takes a step closer, “Maybe I wanted to fuck him, too.” 

His jaw tightens at the word ‘fuck’ and he winces, almost imperceptibly. She watches him fight back whatever emotion is rising inside him when he speaks, his voice straining for calm. “That’s not you, Pressman, and you know it.” He eyes her like she’s a little kid in need of a talking-to. “Go home, sleep off whatever this is. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

“No offense, Harry,” she spits. “But you don’t really know me, do you? I’m just the girl who you hang out with when no one is looking, then shit-talk when your friends are around.” 

Harry actually looks hurt and for a moment, she regrets the fury in her words. His tone is apologetic when he says, “Allie, look, I should have said this before but I’m sorry about what happened after Luke's party. It was a rumor that got out of hand. I should have never told the football guys.” 

She doesn’t want his apology now – it only makes her feel worse. She wants him to be furious with her, to yell and say things he can’t possibly take back because then maybe it would be easier to flush him out of her system, to forget she’d ever seen that fucking mark on his shoulder in the first place. 

“Sure, Harry, whatever you say.” she laughs, off-kilter and harsh. 

He frowns. “I’m being serious. It was Jason who went around telling everyone.” 

She shakes her head, tired of his excuses because they just make it harder to hate him. “Don’t pretend you care, Harry. We both know you’re just a selfish asshole and I’m just another way to get to my sister.” 

His eyes flash then, and she’s finally getting the response she wants. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as she thought it would. “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“Of course it is.” She’s a lying liar, but she hopes he can’t read her as well as she can read him. 

“Okay,” he breathes a sigh, and the smile he fixes on his face is as hard as diamond, brittle around the edges. “Well, in that case, we’re done. No more distractions, no more rides home, no more trying to protect you from guys who only want one thing from you. From now on, I’ll leave you alone.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “You know, I actually thought you were different, Pressman. I liked you. Now, I can see that I was totally wrong.” 

He walks away before she starts to cry. 

Allie ends her Homecoming night the way every girl dreams: 

Alone, sitting on the floor of her shower under a steaming hot spray of water, crying her eyes out as she rubs at her soulmate mark like if she presses hard enough, it just might go away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so clearly our girl Allie is having a rough time. It gets better, don't worry. Fluff promised (just not maybe in the next chapter)
> 
> Thank you guys for all your comments, they were so nice!! :))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst relief here at the end but you know it's coming back :) 
> 
> Actually thank you guys so much for your response so far, it's been amazing and is motivating me to update every day!!! :)) I also can't wait for the big soulmate reveals but this is a SLOW BURN so I'm gonna take my time. Hopefully, it's worth the wait.

On the Saturday after Homecoming, Allie decides there really isn’t any reason for her to get up out of bed. She spends the morning curled up underneath the covers, a children’s cartoon playing on her laptop screen. She doesn’t know what show she’s watching or what’s going on, but she stares listlessly as the characters move about the screen, wishing that she too could live in a world where people solve all their problems and high-five in under thirty minutes. 

Cassandra creeps in around noon, fully dressed and showered, wearing a sympathetic smile and offering to drive them to Allie’s favorite bakery for breakfast – even though it should really be considered lunchtime now. But the mention of the bakery makes her think of Harry and the cupcakes they’d shared on that bizarre Thursday afternoon that feels like it could be from a past life now and her stomach turns, not just from the drinks she’d had the night before. 

She makes a noise that she hopes her sister will interpret as a no. 

“Okay,” Cassandra blinks resolutely, not deterred by the fact that Allie has yet to emerge from her blanket fort. “Maybe we could go somewhere else? I’ve been craving Chipotle all week. We could for lunch in a little bit, give you a chance to get ready.” 

It’s a very Cassandra way of saying that she looks like a mess: her hair is ratty and tangled from going to bed with it soaking wet last night and she's wearing an oversized Georgetown Law sweatshirt that had belonged to their dad, over her rattiest pair of pajama shorts. Not that she really cares – she’s not in the mood to see anyone, not even her sister. 

“Cassandra,” she says, looking up from the screen for the first time, her voice scratchy. “I appreciate it, but I think I want to be alone right now.” 

Her sister deflates – not used to encountering a problem she can’t solve – but bows her head, shutting the door gently behind her with a soft, “I’m right down the hall if you need me.” 

When she’s gone, a part of Allie wants to call out to her. But she knows that even Cassandra’s intellect can’t remedy the giant web of shit she’s spun for herself.

So, she resigns herself to a day spent huddled in bed watching Nickelodeon. She can’t even summon the energy to go downstairs and get a snack, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s not really hungry anyway. Her stomach feels hollow, but she has no appetite. She feels like someone’s carved out a giant hole inside her, leaving something desperately missing. 

It doesn’t help that her soulmate mark is achy and raw from where she’d scrubbed at the skin until it was red and nearly bloody, and every time she shifts and her sweatshirt brushes against it, she feels an uncomfortable urge to start crying – whether from the pain or from something else she doesn’t know. 

She keeps her phone at her side, but it never goes off except for when her mom calls from the car to tell her that she and her dad have started driving back but there’s traffic, so they’ll probably be back pretty late at night. Allie keeps her answers brief and her tone falsely upbeat, but mothers really must know best because there’s a pause in the conversation and her mom says, “Honey, are you sure everything is okay?” 

Allie wants to confess it all – that Harry is her soulmate, but somehow also Kelly’s too, and it’s all so messy and confusing and fucked up – but she doesn’t, can’t because her mom just won’t get it. Her parents are soulmates who met at the age of fourteen on the first day of ninth grade, and neither of them has never known anything close to this ache. 

“Yeah,” she says cheerily, even though she’s on the verge of tears and she thinks it’s starting to show in her voice. “I have to go now, okay, Mom? Will is coming over.” 

She hangs up before her mom can respond, and a part of her wishes she weren’t lying. No one has texted and while a part of her is grateful they’re leaving her to her solitude, she also kind of wants someone to ask her if she’s okay, or if she wants to hang out, or even what the fucking math homework is that weekend. She misses everyone and no one at the same time, and it just might be the worst feeling in the world. 

She misses Harry the most, stupidly. The Harry she’d known on her roof the night of Luke’s party and especially the Harry who’d sat next to her on the bench in front of that cupcake store. But she also misses the boy who she sees in the hallways at school or catches a glimpse of driving through town in his unmistakably obnoxious car. Over the last month, he’d come to represent a sort of normalcy for her, centering her in her own life. 

But he can’t be that for you anymore, Allie, she thinks to herself sternly. You made the right choice when you pushed him away last night. It was never going to end well.

Still. Even if their fight last night had saved her from a future of pain, it doesn’t protect her from the way she’s feeling right now. 

Around ten p.m., Cassandra decides that enough is enough. She barges into Allie’s room without knocking, flicking on the lights and pulling the blankets off the bed. Allie groans, feeling cold and vulnerable in the sudden brightness of the room, but Cassandra isn’t having it. 

“You’ve been in bed for the last sixteen hours, Allie,” she says sternly. “It’s not healthy.” 

Allie doesn’t bother replying, instead flipping over onto her stomach and burying her head in her pillow. She curls up into a ball, trying to summon some body heat to make up for the comforting blanket her sister had ripped away from her. 

“Allie,” Cassandra tries again, gentler this time. “You have to get up.” 

“I don’t want to,” she admits softly. Her voice breaks, and a tear slips out of the corner of eye before she can stop it. She tastes it on her upper life, salty and wet. “Cassie, I messed up.” 

She hasn’t called her sister that in years, not since she had to go in for her last heart operation and Allie was so, so terrified that she might never see her again. 

“It’s okay, Allie.” Her sister’s voice is soothing, and so is the hand she gently rests it Allie’s knee. “We’ll fix it.” 

She shakes head, more tears flowing. Cassandra shifts closer on the bed, reaching out to wipe them away. “I can’t. It’s too fucked up.” 

“Is this about Will?” her sister asks, and Allie lets out a sharp, broken kind of laugh because honestly, she longs for the days when her problems were just about Will. 

She shakes her head, pulling her knees further against her chest. 

“Harry?” Cassandra asks then, and she doesn’t know if it’s the sound of his name or the way Cassandra says it – all tentative and reluctant, like she doesn’t want to believe Harry Bingham could have any kind of hold over someone whose so important to her – but her face crumbles. 

“Oh, Allie,” Cassandra says and then her arms are going around her and Allie’s sobbing in shuddery breaths against her shoulder and god, she’s just so _sick _of crying.__

__

__

__Monday morning dawns gloomy and cold – the first truly chilly day of the year – and it matches Allie’s mood perfectly._ _

__She dresses in skinny jeans and a plain black sweater, curly hair, no makeup. Her parents tiptoe around her during breakfast – not so subtly exchanging confused looks as to why their younger daughter has turned into a zombie - and Cassandra is cheerful and overly talkative as she attempts to fill the silence, fiercely committed to pretending like everything is okay._ _

__The drive to school is quiet, and Cassandra leaves her alone, thankfully. Things had gotten better after they’d talked in her room on Saturday – although she hadn’t told her sister about any of the soulmate stuff – and on Sunday she’d felt better, at least enough to go sweater shopping and finish up her history homework._ _

__She’s nervous again now though, digging her fingernails into her thigh anxiously as the school comes into view. She hasn’t talked to Will or Harry all weekend, and she’s afraid that Clark has opened his mouth about their near-tryst. West Ham isn’t evolved beyond slut-shaming yet, and the other rumors from Luke’s party aren’t exactly helping her reputation either._ _

__“Hey,” Cassandra squeezes her shoulder right before they get out of the car. “It’s going to be okay.”_ _

__Allie nods, but the words don’t hold the same certainty as they once did._ _

__She walks into school with her head down, and mercifully, no one looks her way. Apparently, Clark Beecher isn’t as loose-lipped as she’d feared. More likely, he'd been too afraid of facing Gwen’s wrath at finding out he’d tried to hook up with a random junior just one month after their breakup._ _

__Cassandra likes to come to school early so Allie has a good fifteen minutes to roam the halls before class starts. She looks for Will, but, as was typical for him lately, he’s MIA. She hides out in the library instead and ignores the judgmental looks the librarian shoots her way._ _

__She leaves a minute before the bell is supposed to ring, shouldering her bag as she makes her way upstairs to chemistry. She’s not really looking where she’s going, though - more focused on the jumbled mess inside her head - and, naturally, she bumps into someone, the other girl’s books going flying._ _

__“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” she says and of fucking course it’s none other than Kelly Aldrich, her loyal boyfriend at her side. It hurts to look at him, so she focuses on Kelly, who’s sweet and apologetic even though it had totally been Allie’s fault._ _

__Harry just stands wordlessly at her side, his jaw clenched and his attention laser-focused on an invisible spot on the ground. Kelly slips her hand back into his once Allie has finished mumbling her last awkward apology and she watches them walk off together feeling sick to her stomach, especially as Harry pulls Kelly close to whisper something in her ear._ _

__She’d thought that nothing could hurt worse than watching him walk away from her on Friday night._ _

__She’d been wrong._ _

__Friday doesn’t hold a candle to Harry looking through her like she’s nothing, and that’s all she had ever been._ _

__

__

__Allie is lying in bed that night, half-dozing with her history textbook propped open on her chest, when she hears a rap on her window. She ignores it at first, thinking it must just be the wind, but then it comes again – low and insistent._ _

__For a moment, she freezes, feeling like the girl in the horror movie who’s right about to be killed._ _

__Oh well, Allie thinks, moving to open the window. Given everything that’s happened over the last month, there’s no really no time like the present to be axe-murdered._ _

__Instead of some ski-masked intruder or a ghostly spirit standing below her window, however, it’s Will._ _

__She’s not going to lie: she’s pissed. For the last month, he’s been more like a stranger than a best friend, failing to show up when she needed him most and feeling a hundred miles away while right by her side. Still, she’s lonely and needy, and so she lets him up after only a moment’s hesitation._ _

__They don’t speak until he’s standing in the center of her room – having made it through the window with significantly more grace than either her or Harry on the night of Luke’s party – grimacing as he shakes off his soaked jacket._ _

__“What are you doing here?” she asks icily, folding her arms across her chest. She’s not going to leave him standing outside in the rain, but she’s not going to make this easy for him either. Allie has always been a little too content to let people run right over her, but now she feels stepped-on and prickly and like she deserves an explanation for her best friend practically ghosting her for three weeks._ _

__“I just wanted to see you,” he says, searching for an ease that no longer exists between them. His tone is a little too strained for it to be the truth. “Do I really need an excuse to come hang out with my best friend?”_ _

__“Funny,” she deadpans, “I didn’t know I still qualified for that title.”_ _

__He gives her a look that’s half incredulous, half pained. “Come on, Allie,” he says, his tone wheedling and an almost desperate glint in his eye. She can’t help but wonder where else he’s been tonight. “Don’t be like that.”_ _

__“You didn’t show up to Homecoming,” she says, her voice wobbly and small. “I needed you, Will.”_ _

__He has the sense to look ashamed at least, hanging his head as he glances away from her. His voice is almost too low for her to hear when he speaks, “I know, and I’m sorry, Allie. I had some stuff to deal with that night, and I forgot that I’d promised you I’d come.”_ _

__A part of her wants to stay mad, wants to make him feel as badly as she does right now, but there’s something about the defeated set of his shoulders that has her biting her tongue and crossing the room until she’s right next to him._ _

__“I forgive you,” she says, sincere despite the fact that his apology is half-assed and weak and not nearly enough consolation for the way he’s made her feel these past few weeks. “Just – don’t pull that shit again.”_ _

__“Never,” he says with a half-smile, and she knows it’s stupid to believe him, but she does anyway, because maybe getting back some of Will can help ease the ache of losing all of Harry._ _

__Afterwards, they settle back against her pillows for a Harry Potter marathon, Will’s arm pressed against hers and their knees brushing under the covers. They’ll stop the movie ever so often to make some sort of ridiculous comment about Dumbledore’s beard or marvel at how they’re all such babies in the first one and holy shit, Emma Watson really is the queen of glow-ups and it all feels so bizarrely normal that Allie almost wants to laugh._ _

__At least until it’s four in the morning and the credits are rolling to a close on the fourth movie and Allie’s eyes are starting to droop and Will says, ever so quietly, “I went to see Kelly tonight.”_ _

__Allie wants to keep her eyes closed and pretend she’s fallen asleep, but she’s a better friend to Will then she thinks he deserves sometimes, so she forces herself into sitting position and asks, “Yeah?”_ _

__“I told her I like her,” Will says, and it’s not the punch to the gut it might’ve been a month ago, but she’d be lying if she said it doesn’t sting, even just a little bit. His voice is bitter, “Obviously, she doesn’t feel the same way.”_ _

__“Oh, Will,” she breathes, knowing that whatever words of comfort she has to give won’t do anything to heal his bruised heart._ _

__“Do you really think she’s happy?” he asks, attempting to sound indifferent in an angry sort of way even though the tense posture of his shoulders betrays exactly how much he cares about her answer. “She says she is. With Harry, I mean. But do you really think so?”_ _

__“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes swimming with tears that she hopes Will can’t see in the dim light of her laptop screen. “I really do, Will. They’re soulmates. They’re perfect together.”_ _

__Will deflates before her eyes, the dejection on his face almost making her want to take back her answer and tell him that no, of course not, she’d be happier with him instead. It should make Allie feel better – that she’s not alone in so badly wanting something that isn’t hers – but instead she just wants to cry more, knowing that Will is hurting in the same way that she is._ _

__She wants Harry and Will wants Kelly and Harry and Kelly just want each other._ _

__It’s too complicated and too painful to think about and so she doesn’t. Instead, she lets her eyes fall shut and rests her head against Will’s shoulder. He’s warm and still, and if he feels the occasional tear that slips down her cheek and onto the fabric of shirt, he doesn’t say a word._ _

__

__

__

__After that, things slowly start to return to normal._ _

__Sure, there are still those moments where she’ll be trying to catch Will’s attention in the hallway only to find him staring at Kelly instead and yeah, okay, she finds herself straining to catch a glimpse of Harry more often then she’d like, but for the most part, it almost feels like the events of September had never even happened._ _

__She and Will eat lunch in the cafeteria instead of the courtyard, do their homework together in the library after school, watch movies or just hang out at her house during the weekends. Allie buys three SAT prep books, agrees to let Cassandra start tutoring her in pre-calc, and takes strides towards starting her assignments days ahead of the due date instead of at ten p.m. the night before, her go-to tactic for most of high school so far._ _

__She’s not doing good, not yet, but she’s doing better._ _

__Cassandra, naturally, thinks Will is the reason why._ _

__“For the last time,” Allie tells her sister crossly as they walk the track during P.E., “Will and I are not together.” The class – one of the few at West Ham high not segregated by grade – is supposed to be either running laps or playing ultimate frisbee. Cassandra gets a freebie from running due to her heart condition and while Allie’s not exempt, it’s a little hard for the teacher to tell her to get her ass in gear when he doesn’t even know her name._ _

__“Whatever you say, Allie,” Cassandra hums nonchalantly, her smile knowing. “I’ve just noticed you two spending a lot of time together lately, is all.”_ _

__“We’ve always spent a lot of time together.”_ _

__“Maybe that’s my point. It would be so cute – a real life friends-to-lovers story.”_ _

__Allie rolls her eyes. “I’m not trying to be a cliché, thank you very much. And I’m telling you, Will doesn’t feel that way about me.”_ _

__“I saw him sneaking out your room last week,” Cassandra eyes her meaningfully._ _

__Allie lets out an annoyed sigh, slowing her pace as she reties her ponytail. “We literally just fell asleep watching movies.” She turns on Cassandra with a gleam in her eye, “And hey, what about you? I see the way Gordie looks at you.”_ _

__It’s Cassandra’s turn to flush, and Allie basks in the feeling of managing to turn the tables on her sister for once._ _

__“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just lab partners,” she says primly._ _

__“Oh, come on Cassandra. He’s like that cartoon dog with dancing hearts over its eyes when he’s around you.”_ _

__Cassandra blushes, but it’s more out of pleasure than embarrassment. Allie smirks. “You totally like him.”_ _

__“Do not.” Cassandra folds her arms over her chest. “And don’t turn this around on me. You’re the one who’s sleeping with Will.”_ _

__Allie groans, annoyed both at the suggestive connotation of Cassandra’s words and the fact that they’re back to this again, but she doesn’t get a chance to bite back a response before she hears a loud scoff from her side._ _

__Harry is standing there, on a break from frisbee as he drinks from his water bottle, clearly having overheard Cassandra’s words. She feels her face turn hot, both from having him so close for the first time in over two weeks and at the implication of what he’s just overheard. His jaw is tight, and he wears an annoyed scowl._ _

__“First Clark, now Will? You’re really going through them, Pressman.” His voice is low and taunting, markedly closer to how he sounds when he’s arguing with Cassandra than anything he’s ever used with her._ _

__Her cheeks burn. “Screw you, Harry.” She tosses her hair back angrily, “It isn’t any of your business anyway - I thought we were done.”_ _

__He smirks coldly, setting down his water bottle. “Oh, don’t worry, we are. I couldn’t care less about who you’re screwing.”_ _

__And then he’s gone, sauntering back off to rejoin his eagerly waiting team – a king among men. Cassandra is staring at her with wide eyes that scream ‘what the hell’ but Allie is no longer in the mood to answer questions._ _

__“I should start running,” she says, and then breaks into a sprint, leaving behind her hopelessly confused sister and the boy who isn’t hers, no matter how much the universe tries to tell her that she is his._ _

__

__

__One week later, Allie finds herself in a new and unfamiliar world: detention._ _

__The reason is unlucky and unfair, and if Allie were Cassandra instead, she probably would’ve fought back. But Allie doesn’t have half her sister’s resolve or her debate skills, so she just sucks it up and resigns herself to attending an afternoon detention solely for the unfortunate circumstance of happening to be the lab partner of the class prankster, who’d decided it would be fun to blow up their solution in the teacher’s face. Obviously, she hadn’t been in on the plan._ _

__Not that Mr. Pratt – with liquid dripping from his glasses and magnesium bits flaking his hair – had believed her._ _

__While her not-accomplice had been sentenced to cleaning desks in the history wing, Allie’s been assigned the task of updating the sports trophies in the display case outside the gym. There’s no teacher awaiting her when she arrives, just a ladder leaning against the wall and several trophies from the last couple of years of championships._ _

__Allie picks the first one up and groans at the weight. Fuck. No way is she carrying this thing all the way up the ladder on her own._ _

__As she’s pulling out her phone to text Will to see if he’s still around, she hears the echo of footsteps on the tile behind her. Mid-text, she turns to find none other than Harry Bingham standing behind her, hands shoved into his pockets as he stares right back at her._ _

__“Um.” She’s horribly caught-off-guard, too unaccustomed to being around him. “What are you doing here?”_ _

__“I’m serving a detention.” He eyes her suspiciously. “Why are you here?”_ _

__“I am, too,” she admits nervously, and she sees the tiniest bit of a grin peek out as he prepares to make a joke but then he suddenly seems to remember who she is and how he feels about her, because he quickly shutters his expression, a blank look appearing on his handsome features._ _

__“I guess we’re stuck together then,” he says glumly and from his tone you’d think someone had just told him he has a terminal illness. She pretends it hurts less than it does._ _

__She opens her mouth to respond, but he’s already shouldering past her, lifting up the trophy like it’s nothing. “Let’s just get this over with.”_ _

__

__

__She and Harry work in a tense silence for the first twenty minutes, interrupted only when she takes a trophy from him to place on the display case and an electric shock sparks from where their fingertips brush._ _

__“Ow!” Harry presses his other hand to where she’d zapped him, looking at her as though she’d done it on purpose._ _

__She rolls her eyes – such a baby._ _

__They don’t speak again for another ten minutes, at least not until Harry clears his throat and asks, “So. You and Will?”_ _

__She doesn’t know why he cares and in the long run, it’s probably better for the both of them if she doesn’t respond, but she still finds herself shaking her head resolutely. “No. We’re just friends.”_ _

__“That’s not what your sister thinks.” Harry’s gaze is dark and mocking. “And Cassandra always knows best, of course.”_ _

__“She’s wrong,” Allie says, not knowing why she’s bothering to explain herself to him. “She just saw Will sneaking out of my room the other night. Nothing happened.”_ _

__Harry’s eyes gleam, “So Will knows the old window trick too, huh? And here I thought I was special.”_ _

__He’s being cruel and derisive and god, she hates it. Hates him a little bit, too. She desperately misses the boy who’d sang along to One Direction with her, even though she knows it’s her own fault that he’s gone._ _

__“Stop it,” she says through gritted teeth. “You’re being an asshole.”_ _

__“According to you, that’s just my default setting.” Harry’s smooth and taunting, but hurt too. Even three weeks later, she can see it and she doesn’t know what to say besides that she’s sorry so instead she just turns away, climbing up the ladder with the 2011 Bowling Championship trophy underneath the crook of her arm. It’s the last – and the highest – trophy in the case that they need to switch out and then finally they can go and be free of one another (will they ever really?)_ _

__Harry’s been helping her so far, handing her the trophies from the ground while she climbs the ladder, but right now she’s too angry and too guilty to even look at him. Her arm is starting to burn a little from the weight of the trophy and climbing the same time – god, this one really is high – but she’d rather die than admit to Harry that she needs his help._ _

__With her right arm, Allie pulls herself onto the top rung, lifting up the trophy. As she goes to put it into its proper place, she leans forward on the ladder._ _

__Only her foot slips on the rung, sending the trophy clattering seven feet to the ground with her alongside it._ _

__

__

__

__Allie wakes up to a light being shined across her eyes and a burning pain on the left side of her forehead._ _

__“Ow,” she moans, shutting her eyes to the brightness and lifting a hand to where it hurts. Her fingers come back stained with blood and her stomach turns._ _

__“Shh, Allie, don’t try to move,” a voice comes from her right, warm and female and soothing. The light disappears and suddenly she can see again. There’s a blonde woman in a white lab coat kneeling beside her bed, the name ‘Dr. Andrea Cohen’ printed on the neat name tag pinned to her lapel._ _

__“Where am I?” she asks weakly._ _

__“You’re in the emergency room,” the doctor answers calmly. “You had quite a fall at school and your boyfriend brought you in.”_ _

__Boyfriend? For a minute, Allie thinks she may have amnesia because as far as she remembers, she certainly hadn’t had one of those. It becomes clearer then when Harry steps into the light, looking scared and anxious and pale. He relaxes when he sees her, though, a relieved smile crossing his face as he quickly crosses the small space between the doorway and the bed to reach her side._ _

__“You’re okay,” he breathes, his eyes searching her face like he’s looking for the proof. His hands are inches away from hers on the bed and she can see that they’re trembling. She wants to reach out and take them in hers, which are shaking too, from the pain and from him._ _

__“I’m gonna get some gauze for your head,” Dr. Cohen tells Allie, and the smile she gives them is amused and suggestive and basically translates to ‘I’ll give you two sometime alone.’ Allie’s face turns red._ _

__“Fuck, Pressman,” Harry says when the doctor is gone, “For a second there, I thought you were a goner.”_ _

__“You can’t rid of me that easy,” she says with a smirk that makes him laugh. His gaze hasn’t left her face, and it’s fond and worried and makes her feel all kinds of things she shouldn’t._ _

__“I’m starting to realize that,” he says and one of his hands reaches out like it can’t help it, snagging at a stray curl. They’re quiet for a few precarious moments as Allie just breathes, lying in a hospital bed with a bloody gash across her forehead as Harry Bingham plays with her hair._ _

__“I can’t believe I ended up in the hospital during my very first detention,” she says eventually, breaking the spell. His hand drops the curl, but doesn’t stray very far, hovering by her shoulders. The tips of his fingers brush the space between the curve of her neck and the collar of her shirt, centimeters from her soulmate mark._ _

__“Second,” he says absently, “Can’t forget that one in the sixth grade.”_ _

__She looks up at him. “I’m surprised you remember.”_ _

__“You’re hard to forget, Pressman,” he says, and her heart suddenly feels lodged in her throat._ _

__So are you, she wants to tell him, but then the curtain is being pulled back and suddenly Cassandra is rushing in – glaring at Harry like it’s his fault Allie is there in the first place – and so is her mom, teary-eyed and exclaiming over the cut on her forehead and Harry is slipping out the door, his warmth ripped away from her all over again._ _

__Later that night, though, when she’s back home and underneath the covers, she gets a text._ _

__**For the record, I’m glad you didn’t die today, Pressman.** __

__He doesn’t sign it, but she knows who it’s from. Obviously._ _

__

__**So am I** , she texts back. And then hesitates before typing: **Does this mean we’re friends again?**_ _

__

__He responds instantly. **Who ever said we were friends in the first place?**_ _

__

__She frowns. **Harry.** _ _

__

__**Fine. But you should take this very seriously, Pressman. My friendship is a privilege I don’t just bestow upon anyone, you know.** _ _

__

__**I’m so honored I make the cut.** _ _

__

__When her mom wanders in around eleven to give her her medicine, she finds Allie fast asleep against her pillows, a new text from Harry Bingham lighting up the screen of her phone and a wide smile on her sleeping face._ _

__._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games until that angst hits. 
> 
> And it hits hard, you guys.

When Allie walks into school for the first time since her injury , she isn’t sure what to expect. She and Harry had been texting all weekend about everything and nothing – her head, what she’d missed at school, how he’d taken his sister pumpkin picking on Saturday, their favorite movies (he’d seriously considered ending their friendship then and there when she told she’d never seen any of the Avengers franchise), the best ice cream flavors, and even potential Halloween costumes – but suddenly, she’s terrified about seeing him in person. 

Will he wave and say ‘hi’? Look right through her? Come over and talk to her? 

She’s so busy worrying about the moment she’s going to see him that she doesn’t even realize when the boy occupying her thoughts sidles right up behind her, resting his hand against her locker. 

“What are you staring at?” Harry asks casually, following her gaze to the spot in front of the senior lockers that he typically occupies on most mornings. 

She jumps, whirling around with a small shriek, too surprised to really feel nervous as she smacks his arm lightly, “You scared me, asshole!” She rests a hand against her chest, “My heart is beating so fast.” 

Harry just smirks, “Don’t worry, I’m used to getting that reaction from women.” 

She rolls her eyes – he’s too cocky, but, truth be told, he’s probably not lying. She’s seen a plethora of females, including ladies old enough to be his grandmother, be reduced to acting like open-mouthed and stammering little girls with their first ever crush in his presence. 

Harry know he’s hot and he’s always used it as sort of secret weapon, a ‘get out of jail free’ card when he doesn’t have an assignment on time or when he’s trying to charm his way out of trouble. Too often, she’s seen it work. 

She doesn’t tell him any of that though, just gives an annoyed little huff, “Tell me, Bingham, do you _hear_ some of the things that come out of your mouth?” 

He grins, “Come on, Pressman, you know you love it.” He steps closer to her as he says it, suddenly in her space as his gaze meets hers, dark and filled with teasing laughter, and her throat goes dry and fuck, she can’t focus on anything else when he’s this close to her. 

“How’s the head?” he asks then, serious suddenly, and her stomach flips as he reaches out, the tip of his finger grazing the edge of her bandage. She’s starting to think maybe there had been something else in her tea this morning because she’s off-kilter and disoriented and feels way too much given that he’s not really even touching her skin. 

Is this what having a soulmate is supposed to be like?

“I’ll survive,” she says hoarsely. And then she remembers what her mom had slipped in her bag that morning and why she’d been looking for him in the first place. She feels embarrassed all of a sudden, shy even though Harry has already seen her drunk, throwing up, and bleeding. 

Shit. There’s way too much history between them for only having really known each other for two months and, truthfully, most if isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. 

“Pressman?” Harry prompts, his voice soft and inquisitive and doing things to her insides. 

Allie’s had crushes before – she’s a sixteen-year-old girl, of course she has – but none of them have ever been like this. She’s never felt quite so connected to someone before, like every little thing he does sets off a chain reaction inside her, and frankly, it’s terrifying. Friendship with Harry had seemed like a good idea last week, but suddenly she’s worried her heart might not be able to sustain the damage. 

“I, um,” she fumbles with her bag, her fingers oddly slippery on the zipper. Harry takes it from her wordlessly, sliding the chain down as she mumbles her thanks. “I have something for you.” 

At that his eyebrows shoot up and she sees the overly arrogant boy she knows so well slowly come back to him, “For me?” He’s smug and too sure of himself, his body leaning towards her like a puppy awaiting his next treat. 

She takes the box out of her bag – just chocolates and a card her mom had bought over the weekend as thank you to Harry for his apparent heroics the day of her injury- and holds it to her chest. 

“Well,” Harry asks expectantly, “Aren’t you going to give it to me?” 

“Nope,” she says with a slow smile, shaking her head. “I think I’ll hold onto it for a little longer.”

His mouth falls open, “You can’t do that, Pressman. Not when you already told me about it.” 

“Sorry,” she says with an apologetic little shrug, “I guess you’ll just have to wait until later.” 

She turns around and saunters off then, without looking over her shoulder. She doesn’t get very far before she feels a hand on her waist, spinning her around and grabbing for the box still pressed to her chest. She laughs, pulling it closer to her, and Harry is invading her space once more, her back against the wall of the corridor they’ve found themselves in and there’s no one else around and god, it’s taking her everything not to step forward and close the distance between them. 

He has a girlfriend, she tells herself weakly. A soulmate – one who isn’t you. 

Still, it’s easy to ignore those things when Harry is front of her, all pouty and insolent and cute as he whines, “I want my present, Pressman.” 

“Too bad, Bingham.” If she were a better person, she would hand it over, but instead she just slips the box behind her back, further out of Harry’s reach. 

“Oh, you asked for it,” he says and then he’s leaning around her, one hand reaching for the box and the other splaying across her ribs, holding her in place. He’s determined and relentless as he wrestles her for it but also gentle and cautious and she can tell he’s holding back because he knows she’s hurt, and it’s never been harder to walk away from him. 

Harry winds up winning the box, and another piece of her heart. 

Sometimes, Allie will see Kelly in the hallways and feel just about like the lowest scum on Earth. 

Kelly is smart and pretty and perfect and most of all, nice. She doesn’t deserve having to share her soulmate any more than Allie does, and it makes her want to scream at the universe for the both of them but also delete Harry’s number from her phone and forget he’d ever existed because if she’s really being honest, Kelly _did_ have him first. 

But then she’ll be walking by an empty classroom on the way to her next class and she’ll see Kelly in there with Will, talking quietly and insistently with their heads fairly close for someone who claims not to have feelings for him and she’ll think that she’s not alone in feeling this confused. 

None of them really seem to know what they’re doing either. 

Allie hadn’t really quite known what to expect from Harry Bingham’s friendship – even with the football guys, he seems more like a ringleader than an actual friend – but she’s still pleasantly surprised. 

She often is by him. 

Sure, he still spends the majority of his time walking around school with Kelly’s hand in his or planning parties that she doesn’t hear about until she checks Snapchat that night, but slowly, little by little, he becomes a steady presence in her life. 

Sometimes, when she’ll have texted him the night before at her wits end from staying up late studying for a test or finishing an assignment, he’ll find her before first period with a coffee from Starbucks – he somehow correctly guesses that caramel macchiatos are her favorite - and a blueberry scone that’s so fluffy it kind of makes her want to cry. 

Or, she’ll be lounging on one of the benches outside school, trying to beat her high score in Subway Surfers as she waits for Cassandra to finish facilitating world peace at Model U.N. or annihilating whoever was unlucky enough to be pitted against her at a debate team practice session, and he’ll appear out of nowhere, twirling his keys and asking her if she wants to go for a drive.

She never knows where they’re going when she slides into his passenger seat, but a part of her thinks she’d follow him anywhere. 

More often than not, they end up at the cupcake store that’s starting to feel more and more like it’s _theirs_ instead of just his and Allie thinks she needs to start hitting the gym more often if this trend is going to continue. 

Other times, she’ll direct them to her favorite places instead. By midway through October, he’s tried her favorite cherry pastry from the bakery on Main Street, the lobster ravioli from the fancy dinner place just outside of town (it’s five o’clock when they walk in and they’re the only people under the age of sixty but they’re too caught up in each other to really notice), and the chocolate malt milkshake from the diner that’s so good it’s almost a sin. He has a milk mustache by the end of it and this time she does tell him before anyone else can see (not without discreetly snapping a photo first, of course). 

They hang out on the weekends, too, usually at his house because Cassandra is still an unspoken barrier that hangs between them. He makes her watch every Marvel movie ever made, sitting on his bed with his laptop propped up between them, so close that she can see the shadow of stubble on his jaw and count the exact number of eyelashes he has, and although she’s off-balance and overwhelmed at the feeling of having him so near, she emerges with a certifiable crush on Chris Evans. 

“Maybe I should go as Captain America for Halloween,” Harry muses out loud when she tells him this and she shakes her head. 

“You couldn’t pull it off.” 

He looks offended, “Excuse you. There’s nothing I can’t pull off.” 

He’s right, but she’s not about to tell him that so she continues to disagree vehemently until his fingers have descended on her rib cage and he's threatening to tickle her until she takes it back. Harry is warm and strong above her and she laughs until she cries and fuck, she likes him way too much. 

They finish the last Avengers movie on the last weekend before Halloween and Allie swears that Harry cries the tiniest bit, even though he denies it forcefully when she makes fun of him for it. It’s 7 p.m. when the credits start rolling and they haven’t eaten since breakfast, so they wander into his kitchen in search of something to nourish their empty stomachs. Harry claims he can make a mean spaghetti and meatballs and while she’s skeptical, she trusts in her own abilities in the kitchen even less and so she just settles on the countertop and lets him work. 

Naturally, he’s not content to just let her sit and watch: he puts her in charge of boiling the pasta as he cooks meatballs and heats up the sauce. Her noodles end up slightly too mushy – in her defense, how was she supposed to know what the fuck Harry meant by ‘al dente’ anyway – but it’s salvageable. As Harry mixes things on the stove, he tells her to look around for a bottle of wine. 

She raises an eyebrow, but he just shrugs, “My mom won’t notice. She’s barely around anyway.” He says it indifferently, but she can tell he still cares. 

She finds a bottle of chardonnay hidden in the cupboard near the sink and spends a good five minutes struggling with the bottle opener before Harry takes pity on her and just does it himself. Allie pours their wine into the glasses as Harry heaps their servings onto plates and it all feels strangely domestic and warning bells start to flash in her head, telling her she’s getting too comfortable. 

They never talk about Kelly, but Allie still feels her presence in the girl’s jean jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa in Harry’s bedroom and the smell of her perfume in the car – a constant reminder that while Allie may get Harry for these few tenuous moments when no one else is looking, Kelly is the one who has him forever. 

They settle on the couch in his living room with their steaming plates of spaghetti and Harry runs back to bring over their glasses. Her knee brushes his on the couch as she flicks through channels on the TV. She’s not about to watch a sports game, the news is too depressing for the both of them, and every soap opera they stumble across is so terrible they change the channel within seconds, so they end up settling on a Disney channel show that they both mock mercilessly but ending up watching the whole way through. 

Afterwards, they clean up the kitchen; Allie on dish duty as Harry wipes counters and puts away the ingredients. He’s weirdly adorable as he scrubs down the kitchen island, scrunching his nose as he rubs at a particularly nasty stain, and she has to look away before she can do something stupid like tell him so. 

“Fuck, it’s hot,” Harry says when she’s moved onto drying, flushed from his vigorous scrubbing of where he’d accidentally dumped out a third of the tomato sauce container, too absorbed in responding to whatever barb Allie had tossed his way to notice where he was pouring. He fans himself, pulling his hoodie back from his collar. 

Allie just hums in response, focused on wiping down the plates. 

He turns around then, pulling off his sweatshirt, and his shirt rides up with it, exposing his back. She risks a glance and there it is in all its glory: his – her – soulmate mark. 

She flinches, looking back down at her task, but it’s too late. Harry has noticed her noticing his mark, and there’s a question on his face that she’s terrified he’s going to ask. 

“Can I see yours?” 

She freezes, the plate in her hands almost slipping to the ground. Harry rescues it just in time, placing it gently back on the countertop.

“Harry,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. 

“What?” he asks, his mouth pulling to the side in a slight smirk. “You saw mine. I think we should be even." 

A part of her wants to turn around, yank her sweater to the side, and show him where they match. But her more rational side recognizes how that might change things in a way that’s irreparable and, worst of all, place her at risk of losing what they’ve slowly built over the last couple of weeks. 

He must see something on her face then, because his expression shifts. It’s wary now, an unfamiliar emotion creeping its way across his fine features. “Allie,” he says hesitantly, “Do you know who your soulmate is?” 

She’s frozen, the words lodged in her throat, but the universe must decide it’s finally time to throw her a bone because suddenly the front door is opening behind them and his mother’s voice rings out, asking for him, and Harry is scrambling to hide the wine and Allie is grabbing her jacket and ducking out the back door, leaving him behind without a word.

She’s sitting in the corner booth of the diner with Will right across from her, ranting about something his English teacher had said earlier, when the bell above the door jingles and Harry walks in. 

Stupidly, she wants to call out to him, even though Will is sitting right there. The words die in her throat, however, when she sees who walks in right behind him. 

Suddenly, Allie is the bad friend as Will’s story falls on deaf ears. She’s too caught up in watching Harry take Kelly’s hand and lead her over to Allie’s favorite booth – the one that they’d sat in the day she’d introduced him to this place – and order a chocolate milkshake. They sit on the same side and drink from the same straw when the shake comes, and they look straight out of a bad eighties rom-com, and her heart hurts _so badly_. 

“Allie?” Will looks at her expectantly. He hadn’t noticed the newest arrivals. “Are you listening?” 

“Yeah,” she smiles weakly, turning back to face him. She can barely look at her own chocolate shake now. 

She lets Will finish the rest. 

Later that night, Harry texts her – **Meet up after school tomorrow**?

Allie ignores it. 

All throughout the next day, she makes sure that Will never leaves her side. Harry’s not one to approach her when she’s with him, and sure enough, he doesn’t say a word to her all morning – even though she catches him looking her way more than once when they pass in the halls. 

Only her plan runs into a roadblock during fifth period – when Will has music and she has a free – and they part ways as he goes to the second floor and she remains on the first. Allie wanders through the deserted halls aimlessly, wondering where she can hide out where Harry won’t think to look for her.

She’s still vaguely annoyed and unsettled from yesterday and she thinks this might be one of the worst days she’s had in a while. She just wants school to be over, so she can go home and find solace in her new Netflix obsession The Haunting of Hill House and her go-to binge-watching snack, strawberry Twizzlers. 

Daydreaming about when that time will finally come, Allie doesn’t realize she’s not alone until it’s too late. 

Harry emerges from a classroom to her right like he’d been lying in wait and she jumps back, startled. She shouldn't be too surprised though: he's always had an uncanny ability to know exactly where to find her. 

“You didn’t answer my text,” he says after they’ve hovered in awkward silence for a beat too long. 

“Oh, I guess I didn’t see it,” she says flippantly, pulling out her phone and pretending like she’s just seeing the notification. 

“I asked if you wanted to hang out today. After school.” He’s looking at her expectantly and, in this moment, it’s so easy to pretend that she’s the only one he wants to spend time with. But she’d seen him with Kelly yesterday and the fact that it had been somewhere that she’d shared with him made it hurt so much more than usual and yeah, okay, she’s his girlfriend and he’s allowed to take her anywhere he wants but Allie is still irrationally hurt and sad and angry. 

“I don’t think I can,” she lies through her teeth. “I have a math test tomorrow.” 

It’s actually on Friday, but there’s no way he can know that. 

“I can help you. I aced pre-calc.” His arrogant smirk falters ever so slightly when her expression doesn’t change. 

“I think Cassandra is going to help me, actually. Thanks for offering though.” She’s too polite and it’s all wrong. Harry raises his eyebrows. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks her carefully. 

“Nope,” she says with fake cheer, shaking her head resolutely. “I’m all good.” 

“Okay,” he eyes her for a moment longer. “If you say so.” 

His gaze is probing, and she thinks he knows her a little too well, so she quickly mumbles an excuse he definitely doesn’t buy, walking away from him so fast it feels like she’s fleeing. 

She doesn’t see Harry for the rest of the day, but when she opens her locker after the final bell, she finds out where he’s been. 

Resting on top of her books is a stack of old papers – math notes and practice problems with attached answer keys, all written in the same messy handwriting she recognizes easily. 

The note on top reads: **I know you said Cassandra was going to help you, but I figured these couldn’t hurt. After all, I was the best student in the class**. 

It’s overconfident and sweet, somehow a perfect representation of Harry himself. She finds herself smiling as she reads it over a second time, and then curses herself for it. 

Allie wants to be mad at him, she really does, but suddenly, it’s just too hard. 

Halloween is upon them before she knows it, much to Allie’s delight. 

She’s always loved the holiday, even though her days of dressing up as a ninja and tailing after Cassandra in her princess costume as they crossed off block by block are long behind her, and she can’t help but be in a good mood all throughout the day.

Harry is certainly less enthused by the festivities, although he does dress up. He’s Captain America, just like he’d promised, and all the girls swoon at the sight of Harry Bingham in a tight suit and a cape. Allie just rolls her eyes, although she does text him when she gets a moment alone. 

**Okay, fine, maybe you _can_ pull off Captain America**. 

Oddly, he doesn’t respond – even though she catches sight of him a couple of times throughout the day. He seems agitated and restless, pulling off part of the suit to run his hands through his hair the way he does when he’s frustrated, and refusing to take part in the costume contest even though the rest of the friends – the remaining Avengers team (Luke is Black Widow, which gets a laugh out of even Allie) – enter under group costume. They win, but Harry isn’t there to see it. He’d disappeared sometime after sixth period, and Allie is weirdly thrown off by the absence of him.

She texts him two more times – once to ask where he is, then to check whether he’s okay – but both go ignored. 

By the time she’s getting dressed for the party Will is dragging her to – it’s being thrown by Clark Beecher and she’s hopelessly confused by why he even wants to go – she’s more than worried. She even calls him – which she never does, because she’s terrified he’ll be with Kelly – but he still doesn’t pick up. 

Biting her lip, she puts the finishing touches on her costume, knowing Will kill her if she’s not ready on time. 

She’s going as Hermione Granger, obviously with a teenage house party twist. Her skirt is short, barely hitting mid-thigh, and she keeps her hair deliberately messy and her makeup dark. She looks hot in a mysterious sort of way, especially with her cloak and her knee-high boots (which Hermione definitely did not own, but whatever). She tells herself it's not because she knows Harry will be there, but come on. 

Cassandra whistles low when Allie walks into her room to check her reflection in the full length mirror she has behind her door. Allie ignores her, although her cheeks do heat up. 

“You look good, Allie,” Cassandra says, her tone deliberately suggestive. “Will’s picking you up, isn’t he?” 

“I thought we were dropping this,” Allie groans, leaning forward to examine her eyeliner. It’s not exactly even, but she doesn’t think she can do any better. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve been studying for an awful lot of chemistry tests with him lately.” 

Allie feels guilty all of a sudden, so much so that she can barely look at her sister. For all of his kindnesses towards her, Harry’s less-than-friendly attitude towards Cassandra hasn’t lessened in the slightest. And she’s nowhere near his biggest fan either. 

She’d be so disappointed if she knew that he was the one Allie had been spending time with these last couple of weeks. Especially if she realized that Allie had been lying to her about it the entire time. 

“I have to go,” she says, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Will is almost here.”

“Okay,” Cassandra stands up and approaches Allie, straightening her cloak. “Be safe, okay? And have fun. You deserve it.” 

“I love you,” Allie tells her, and then quickly kisses her cheek and leaves before she feels any guiltier. 

And, anyway, she hadn’t actually been lying this time: Will is indeed parked outside, leaning against the door of the car she wonders what he’d had to sacrifice to get his foster father to loan him for the night. 

It was time to face the music. 

Allie realizes the second that she sees Harry at the party that something is very, very wrong. 

While he’d been morose and subdued during school, he’s nothing but alive now. He stands at the center of the room, a beer in one hand even though he’s clearly already had too many, the other clamped around the waist of a girl Allie doesn't recognize. She’s obviously overjoyed to have captured the attention of the hottest, most popular guy in school, touching his chest as she flirts with him, and to Allie’s confusion, he isn’t pushing her away but pulling her _closer_. 

What the fuck?

She doesn’t interact with Harry in public – it’s one of their unspoken rules – but she finds herself breaking off from Will and moving towards him with remarkable purpose. Something has clearly happened, but that’s no excuse to do this to Kelly. 

Or to her, she thinks inside of her head. 

“Harry,” she touches his arm as she reaches him, forcing him to turn towards her. “Can we talk?” 

The girl plastered to his front faces her before he can respond, her nose wrinkling as she takes in Allie’s cloak and uniform skirt. “Sorry, honey, but he’s a little busy right now.” 

Allie smiles patiently. “No offense, but fuck off.”

And then she turns away, pulling Harry with her. He goes willingly, stumbling all the while, and she hooks her arm around his waist, holding him steady as they move through the crowd. He seems to know where he wants her, leading them out of the house and further into the darkness until they’re in the backyard, half-hidden in the shadows. 

“Well, you've got me alone. What do you want, Pressman?” Harry’s abrasive in a way he hasn’t been with her in a long time, and she doesn't like it. 

“What the fuck is your problem, Harry?” she asks angrily. “You’ve been acting weird all day, and you were all over that girl inside.” 

He stiffens. “So, what? Are you the hookup police now or something, Pressman? I can do whatever I want.” 

“No, you can’t,” she seethes. “I don’t know if this is news to you, but you have a girlfriend, Harry.” 

“Actually,” he says and his voice wobbles, his anger breaking momentarily. “I don’t.” 

She feels like the wind just got knocked out of her. “What?” she breathes. 

“Kelly broke up with me,” Harry says and although her heart should leap, he’s too miserable for her to feel anything but sorry for him. “She says it’s been a long time coming.” 

“She can’t do that,” Allie stammers, feeling like something isn’t connecting here. “She’s your soulmate. You _have_ to be together.” 

Harry’s shaking his head now, and Allie is hopeful and horrified at the same time. “No, she’s not. She never was.” 

Allie stumbles on nothing, her breathing stuttering, and Harry catches her, his hands warm on her arms even through the material of her cloak. She holds onto him tight, feeling like she might fall over if he lets go. 

“But she told us she was, years ago,” she says, almost desperately, and she doesn’t even know what she’s fighting for anymore. She should be happy, but instead she sort of feels terrified because all this time she’s been using Kelly as an excuse to hide from Harry exactly what she is to him and suddenly, without that shield, it’s all too real and she’s too vulnerable. 

Harry laughs, a hollow sound. “I guess she thought she was at some point. But we found out pretty quickly that our marks aren’t in the same place – hell, they don’t even really match.” 

“Then – why?” she asks, her head swimming. “Why be with her, if she isn’t your soulmate?” 

“Because I love her.” Harry says brokenly. He covers his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he breathes, “Fuck. I love her.” 

Allie flinches when he says it, so raw and true even when they’re not together anymore, when, according to the universe, they never should have been in the first place. It cuts deep inside, but she still forces her voice to remain steady when she asks, a little too desperately, “What about your soulmate?”

“I don’t care,” Harry says, drunk and careless and completely oblivious to the way he’s breaking her heart. “Fuck the universe. It doesn’t tell me who I get to be with.” 

“Don’t you want to find her, Harry?” There are tears on her cheeks now, salty and stinging, and she hopes that he can’t see them in this near-darkness. “What if she’s out there looking for you?” 

“Then she’ll be looking for a long time. I don’t believe in soulmates.” He lets his hand drop from her arms, pulling away. “I don’t need a mark to tell me who I want - I already know.” He turns around, gazing back towards the house, towards the girl he loves. 

Allie steps backwards, nearly stumbling in the undergrowth. Harry doesn’t notice. 

She feels cold all over even as her mark burns underneath the fabric of her cloak.

Apparently, the universe hasn’t fucked up. Her soulmate's mark only matches hers.

He just still doesn’t want her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a happy ending, I swear. 
> 
> Your comments have all been so sweet and nice, thank you so much!! Please keep doing them, I love hearing feedback on the story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Sorry it's been a while, especially after I was updating like every day in the beginning. It's my last summer before college and my friends have just realized we're not going to see each other regularly anymore so I've had plans every goddamn day. Thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos in the interim!! I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Hope this nearly 7k word baby makes up for the delay! 
> 
> Warnings: References to depression. This chapter is just an oof for Harry until the end.

After Clark’s disastrous party – she should really stop going to these things, shouldn’t she – the rest of Allie’s weekend passes in a blur of finishing up last minute assignments, spending time with Cassandra, and studiously ignoring Harry’s texts. 

Beginning Saturday morning, her phone starts chiming every hour or so with a new message. The first couple are all vaguely apologetic for getting drunk and the messy at the party, and the next are just more of the stupid Twitter memes they’d started sending each other last week – clearly a bid for attention. Later in the day, he asks if she wants to hang out. When nighttime rolls around without a response, his texts get less subtly cloying and more outright. The latest one is simply:

**Are you mad at me or something?**

She stares at that text for a good five minutes, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. Allie is pretty sure the little text bubbles have appeared on his phone which means, fuck, he totally knows she’s reading these. She has no choice but to reply. 

The truth is, Allie isn’t sure what to do about Harry right now. On one hand, she feels guilty about just abandoning him, especially now that he’s hurting over Kelly too. He’s shown her more of his caring and generous side over the last couple of weeks than he ever has anyone else outside of Kelly and his family, and he deserves so much more than to just lose her completely over a drunken rant at a Halloween party. 

But then again, so does she. 

Ever since she found out about soulmate marks, a part of her has been waiting for her perfect match to come along and sweep her off her feet. Finally, she would get to be the main focus instead of just an afterthought, a highlight rather than just a footnote in someone’s story. It doesn’t seem fair that that fantasy should be ripped away from her just because Harry is too proud to believe in destiny. 

Harry is one of those people who you can’t help but gravitate towards, his very persona just pulling you in. She doesn’t think she could stop being his friend if she tried. But, at the same time, things are different now in the light of knowing that – even without another soulmate standing in the way – Harry is never going to the Prince Charming of her fairy tale. 

Soulmate or not, she’ll never be number one to him. That spot belongs to Kelly, and just two days ago Allie might have been willing to roll over and accept that, content to just take what she could get of Harry, but now, she’s starting to feel differently. 

Allie may not be student body president like Cassandra or the prettiest and kindest cheerleader in school like Kelly, but she’s passionate and loyal and caring and god damn it, she deserves to be somebody’s number one, the person they can’t stop thinking about, the first face they want to wake up to in the mornings and the last one they want to see before they go to sleep. 

So, while she’s not just going to stop being Harry’s friend, she’s definitely going to take a couple of steps back. Disentangle herself from Harry and Will and Kelly and the mess they’ve made and focus on herself. Maybe, in the process, she’ll be able to find someone who just might be willing to fill the role Harry had so callously rejected in one move on Friday night – or, at the very least, take her mind off of him. 

She picks up her phone again, her fingers moving quickly across the screen: **No. Just busy**.

His response is instantaneous, and a little part of her feels vindicated at the thought that he was poised over their messages, anxiously awaiting her reply. 

**Okay... R u still going to be busy tomorrow?**

It’s desperate and a little needy and it suddenly makes her feel terrible as she pictures him sitting alone in his room, sad and missing Kelly and in need of someone to come and help pull him out of it. Three days ago, she would’ve been that person. Now, she can’t be. 

This is just one of those things that you have to do for yourself, no matter how much you might be hurting someone else. Because if she just continues to get lost in Harry like she has been for the last two months – if she’s being honest, her feeling towards him are starting to teeter dangerously towards _love_ – it’s her who’s going to end up getting hurt in the end. 

**I think so. Sorry! I’ll talk to you Monday**. With that, she throws her phone into her nightstand drawer, where it’ll be easier to resist the temptation to keep talking to him, especially when she hears the telltale buzz of a new text message. 

If she’s going to protect her heart, she’s going to have to be stronger than she’s ever been before. 

On Monday morning, school is buzzing with the news of Harry and Kelly’s break up. No one can quite believe that the golden couple is a couple no more, and Allie doesn’t it make it longer than five consecutive minutes before she turns a corner only to find yet another group of people talking about it in hushed whispers. 

No one’s sure who broke up with who – Harry and Kelly are both hot and smart and perfect and who would ever break up with either of them? – and there’s a lot of speculation. Only Kelly’s friends seem to know the answer (Allie, too, but no one would ever suspect that) and Lexie and Gwen and Erika walk around all day with smug, we-know-something-you-don’t looks that make her want to laugh. But none of them are exactly trustworthy, so she suspects that the truth will be out by Tuesday. 

Naturally, it is, and it sends Harry to her doorstep for the first time ever (he’s always been too worried about running into Cassandra). She’s only been home herself for a couple of minutes before she hears the rapid knocking on the front door. 

Confused, she abandons the pizza rolls she’d been warming up in the kitchen and goes to see who it is. She’s taken aback to see Harry there, especially when he steps inside, and she gets a good look at his messy hair and bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, she’s rethinking her decision to take a few steps back as she wonders if he’s really okay at all. 

“Harry?” she prompts gently. “What are you doing here?” 

He’s looking at the ground, not at her. “I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice is small, and it breaks her heart a little bit. 

He takes a shuddery sort of breath, “I hate being the center of attention. It’s weird, because I’ve always been the lead in the school plays and I throw parties, but those things are okay, you know? But this, this is different. Everyone knows Kelly broke up with me and they’re all looking at me like there’s something wrong with me and I just _can’t_.” 

“Oh, Harry,” she says reaching for him despite that firm talking to she’d given herself just a couple of days ago about not doing exactly this. She just means to touch his shoulder but somehow ends up pulling him closer, until their noses are almost brushing. “It’s going to be okay. People will move on soon enough.” 

“Yeah,” he says forlornly. “But that won’t bring Kelly back. I’ve tried talking to her, but she says she’s completely done. I think there’s someone else.” His words are like a dagger to the chest, and she can see that he’s clearly in pain too. They’re two bleeding hearts standing toe-to-toe in her living room, trying desperately to conceal it from each other. 

She takes a deep breath and inches backwards, Harry’s grip tightening ever so slightly on her arm like he’s afraid of her slipping away. It’s weird, but she thinks that Harry Bingham might actually be...lonely. He’s the defacto leader of the popular kids, the life of every party, the sure bet for prom king and yet, she doesn’t know if he has any real friends outside of her and Kelly. 

“You have to let go, Harry,” she says as gently as possible, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of her trying to give out relationship advice given what a hot mess her own life has been as of late. “I know that you guys were together a long time, and that those feeling don’t just go away overnight. Maybe they never will.” Allie winces as she says this, and Harry’s eyes flicker over her face. She continues quickly, “But, if Kelly wants to move on, you have to let her. And you have to try as well. It won’t heal right away, but I promise it’ll get better someday.” 

She’s trying to convince herself as well as him. 

Harry nods miserably, but she can tell by how the glassed-over look in his eyes has passed that she’s gotten through to him somewhat. She’ll take that for now. 

He looks down at his watch and seems to realize something, because he glances at the door next. “I have to go,” he says, and she can tell he feels guilty about just dumping his feelings on her and running as he explains, “I need to pick Sarah up from school.” 

“Go,” she says gently, “I get it.” 

And she needs him to get out of here before she says something stupid, because the sight of him all soft and vulnerable in her house is doing things to her head. 

“Thanks for everything, Allie,” he says heavily, and she wonders what exactly ‘everything’ means. She doesn’t get to think about it for very long before he’s hugging her, placing one strong arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. She goes weak and pliant, burying her head in the junction of his neck and shoulder and breathing in the smell of his aftershave. She’s never been this close to him before, and her body feels warm and fuzzy all over, every nerve ending tingling. 

“Has anyone ever broken your heart?” he mumbles into the curve of her neck and she freezes because he can’t know, can he? He must feel her tense, because he adds, “You give really good advice.” 

She forces herself to relax – Harry doesn’t even know he had her heart to break – and pulls back, shrugging slightly. “No. I’ve...never felt that strongly about someone, I guess.” 

He looks at her closely for a moment, his gaze searching. They’ve separated, but he’s still only millimeters away. She can see the slight hint of gold in his dark eyes and where he’d missed a spot while shaving this morning. Allie feels her breath catch, the air around them suddenly charged. 

He glances down at her lips. 

And then the shrill ring of his phone interrupts them. It’s his mom, demanding why Sarah has already been waiting for five whole minutes and he’s cursing and apologizing and walking out with a contrite look backwards. 

After he’s gone, she shuts the door and leans back against it, sliding to the ground.

What the hell happened to taking a step back? 

The next day, Allie has a game plan. 

If the hours spent in bed last night analyzing Harry’s unexpected visit had taught her anything, it’s that being his friend isn’t really conducive to getting over him. In fact, she only seems to be falling deeper. 

So, for the time being, she’s going with full avoidance. It’s hard – especially when he texts her late at night, mostly sad but a little bit something else, too – but she sticks with it. Harry still never talks to her in front of people, so she tries to throw herself into her remaining friends: Will, Becca, Sam, Cassandra, and lately, Gordie, too. 

Sometimes, they’ll pass in the hallways and Harry will look at her a second too long and she’ll want to throw all her hard work out the window. Or he’ll catch her alone for a split second in the near-deserted library and he’ll draw her into a conversation where she’ll laugh so loudly she gets them kicked out and she’ll be left wondering why she’s trying to stay away from him in the first place. 

But then she’ll see him standing at the center of a crowd and still only looking at Kelly and she’ll realize it with the force of getting hit by a pickup truck. 

On the eleventh day of The Plan, Becca comes up to her at lunch and asks if she wants to go college touring over the long weekend. Allie’s already been to a lot of schools because of Cassandra, but she figures a distraction can’t hurt, and so she promises to talk her parents into letting her go. It’s a surprisingly easy ask – they seem oddly distracted by something, especially her father – and come Saturday morning, Allie is sitting in the backseat of Becca’s car listening to her argue with her mother about what radio station to play. 

Becca and her mom are close – they actually remind her more of herself and Cassandra then her and her own mother – and it makes her smile. They’re going down to New York to check out NYU, which is Becca’s dream school and, secretly, Allie’s as well. Sure, it’s crazy expensive and her parents have their hearts set on Wesleyan for her, but she figures it’s okay to have a wish of her own. The chances of her getting in with a decent scholarship are slim anyway, despite the fact that she got a 1520 on her last SAT practice test and, with the exception of math, she’s managed to keep up all straight A’s so far this year. 

They spend the morning touring the school, and then get lunch at a burger place in SoHo afterwards. They serve crazy milkshakes, too, and Allie stresses herself out way too much over which one to order. The chocolate lover in her eventually wins out and she goes with ‘Brooklyn Blackout,’ an insane version of her favorite chocolate shake from back home, complete with chocolate drizzle and a fudge brownie thrown on top. She snaps a picture and posts it to her Snapchat story, alongside Becca’s rainbow Fruity Pebble concoction. 

Almost instantly, her phone buzzes, and she looks down to see Harry has responded to her story with a snap of himself in his kitchen, looking adorably bleary-eyed (and too much like he’s just gotten out of bed for it to be 3 p.m.), captioned ‘ **I’m jealous**.’ She swallows hard, debating between leaving him on read or sending back a picture of her milk mustache, when she hears Becca clear her throat. When Allie looks up, the brunette trains a meaningful glance on her phone and murmurs gently, “I thought this was supposed to be a distraction?” 

She’s never told Becca anything about Harry, but the other girl is more than perceptive enough to have figured out some of it herself. And Allie’s probably not exactly subtle about staring at him during lunch.

“You’re right,” she says, setting her phone down without responding.

Becca’s mom departs after lunch to go shopping, telling them she’s going to go back to their hotel after. After she’s gone, Becca looks up at Allie slyly, “Are you up for a party?” 

As it turns out, there’s supposed to be a rager at one of the NYU dorms later that night. Becca had been invited by a cute sophomore she’s hoping to see again, and Allie’s thinking too much about Harry again, so they decide to pick up some clothes and then head down there after dinner. 

They go into a bunch of stores all over SoHo, many of them wildly overpriced, others just plain weird, and some actually to their liking. At some of them, they take turns picking out clothes for each other – the more eclectic and crazy-looking the better – and trying them on. Becca narrates the whole experience in nasally WASP speak, and Allie almost falls over trying to get into her dress from laughing too hard. 

They get dressed in their hotel room trying to be quiet and failing miserably – causing Becca’s mom to shout through the door of connecting room to ask about what they’re doing. Becca calls out “Nothing!” in a completely unbelievable voice, but she thinks Ms. Gelb is just too tired or too aware of the fact that they’re teenagers who can’t be stopped when they’ve got their minds set on something to really try and parent. 

Allie does their hair, curling hers and straightening Becca’s, while the other girl does makeup. Becca goes all out with glitter eyeshadow while Allie keeps it simpler with a smoky eye that accents the blue of her irises. She goes for a low-key outfit as well since she’s usually a jeans-and-sweater kind of girl, pulling on skinny jeans and a tight, low-cut black lace tank top. It skims the waistband of her jeans, showing off a little bit of stomach every time she stretches her arms slightly, and while she’d be uncomfortable wearing this back in West Ham, she feels like a different person here under the lights of New York City. 

She snaps a picture of them in the bathroom mirror before she leaves: Becca sticking her tongue out in her short skirt and striped sweater while Allie holds up an unironic peace sign, feeling stupid and silly and alive. She puts it on her story – _not_ because she wants Harry to see it, she tells herself as she does it – and slides her phone into her pocket for the rest of the night so she won’t be tempted to see if anyone responds. 

The party is hot and crowded and a little dark despite the flashing strobe lights, but Allie thinks she already likes it better than West Ham’s signature backyard blowout. She dances with Becca for three back to back songs using way too many hip thrusts and pop-and-locks, throwing her hair back and no doubt looking like she’s in a bad 90’s hip hop video, but it’s the most fun she’s had in a while. 

Eventually, Becca goes off to talk to her handsome sophomore journalism major – Allie meets him, and he seems nice enough, but she still makes sure that she and Becca are location sharing just in case – and Allie makes her way over to the drinks table. She’s a little apprehensive about just picking up a drink, but an older-looking girl (maybe a junior) assures her that they’re carefully monitored to make sure no one gets up to any funny business. 

Feeling reassured, Allie downs two of what she’s told are jello shots. They’re squishy and taste like strawberry, but she already likes them better than beer. When she tells the guy behind the bar this, he laughs and agrees, “Beer sucks. Too bad I didn’t realize that until high school was over.” 

He’s looking at her in a way that makes her face flush and she realizes that he thinks she’s in college and that _should_ matter, but right now she just wants to feel wanted. So, she leans towards him and orders two more – one for him and one for her. His smile widens, and he beckons a friend over to take over mixing drinks for him. 

They take their jello shots out onto the back steps of the dorm, where it’s cold and a little too dark, but Allie can scarcely care about any of that when he’s looking at her like she’s _her_ and not just someone he wants her to be. 

It turns out he’s a freshman and a biochemistry major and nothing like Harry. His name is Zack and he’s handsome in a nerdy sort of way – glasses, green eyes, neatly combed black hair, hipster jeans – and as he talks, Allie finds herself wanting to kiss him more and more. This isn’t going to last beyond tonight, but he likes sea turtles and says the word ‘um’ a lot and apologizes every time he so much as bumps her arm lightly and so she leans over and kisses him right in the middle of a story about how he almost burned down his dorm while making microwave popcorn. 

For all his self-proclaimed geekiness, he’s an excellent kisser. His lips are soft and so are his hands when they come to rest on her upper arms. They kiss lazily and she’s the one who pushes it further, slipping her tongue into his mouth and her hands into his hair. He pulls her into his lap, her knees coming to rest on the steps on both sides of him, and they make out under the streetlights until her phone begins to buzz with a text from Becca, who’s inside looking for her. 

She pulls back and looks at him, his mouth a little red and hers no doubt matching. With a smile, she straightens his glasses, kisses him again – fast and hard – before she says, “I have to go.” 

“Let me guess, you’ll turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.” He’s a little dazed but smiling. 

“Something like that,” she mumbles, then kisses him one last time before they both get up. He takes her hand as they go back into the party to find Becca, but he doesn’t ask for her number and she thinks that he gets it, too – that this isn’t meant to last forever. 

“Looks like you had fun without me,” Becca teases as they slide into the backseat of their cab. Allie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she half-heatedly mutters, “Shut up.” 

Later that night, when Becca is snoring away next to her, she checks to see if Harry has viewed her story. He has, and if she takes a little bit of pleasure in that, it’s okay, because he’s not the one she was kissing tonight and that means that she’s getting over him, bit by bit. 

Harry finds her before school on Tuesday. 

She’d spent all of Monday recovering from New York, and now she clings to a coffee cup in the deserted courtyard as she waits for the bell to ring. He walks up to her without her really noticing and she nearly jumps when he taps her shoulder. 

“How was your weekend?” he asks, “I saw you got a milkshake without me.” 

He pouts as he says it, and the petty part of her wants to snap back something about how he took Kelly to _her_ spot, but then she notices the fact that he looks tired coming off a long weekend and that his hair needs cutting and that his black sweater is loose around the collar and wrists. He’s Harry, so he still looks good, but there’s something that’s just _wrong_. 

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t resist,” Allie says with a small laugh. “I’ll bring you along next time, Bingham.” 

He brightens then, and for a moment it feels like he could just be her friend, smiling at her and making plans, and she thinks she could learn to live with this being her new normal with Harry Bingham. 

“How was New York, anyway?” Harry asks casually, even though his nonchalant stance appears a bit too practiced. “It looked like you had fun.” 

“Oh, Becca wanted to go to this party,” she says, and her face turns hot as she remembers exactly what happened at this party. Harry’s gaze gets a little bit sharper. She adds hurriedly, “It was no big deal. I tried jello shots for the first time.” 

This gets a smile out of him and he starts to respond when Becca swoops in out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Allie’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, and she’s totally leaving out the part where she hooked up with this cute freshman.” Allie’s face turns bright red, and she knows Becca doesn’t mean anything by it, but she still wishes she’d clamped a hand over her mouth before she’d had the chance to say anything. 

Harry’s smile becomes tight and painfully fixed as he says, his voice a little strained, “Wow, a college guy. I didn’t know you had it in you, Pressman.” 

She shrugs helplessly, hating the way his face has grown shuttered and closed off and worse, almost defeated. The empty look that had been in his eyes when he’d approached her has returned and although he stays by her and Becca for the remaining five minutes before the bell rings, chatting aimlessly about school, she can’t help but feel like something has changed between them and within Harry himself. 

December passes slowly and endlessly. She gets back her SAT score and it’s high high, higher than anyone had expected, and her parents take her out to celebrate. On the way back, though, Cassandra reminds her that there’s always room for improvement and she feels oddly prickly and annoyed and the first person she wants to text is Harry but of course, she can’t do that anymore.

After New York, her plan to give him some space had become decidedly easier. Harry had stopped seeking her out – well, seeking anyone out, really. She only sees him around school sometimes now, usually with dark half-moons under his eyes and a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. The girls call it his ‘grunge look,’ and claim it makes him even more attractive, but Allie can’t help but wonder if there’s something else to it. 

If Harry’s not talking to Kelly and he’s not talking to her, then who is he talking to?

She tells herself it’s not her job to care, but still. She wonders. 

The month trudges on until finally school is out and it’s Christmas Eve. She bakes Christmas cookies – chocolate chip, molasses, M&M, and white chocolate and cranberry – with Cassandra the morning of the 24th. She tries a new recipe, too - orange creamsicle - and she tells Cassandra she saw it online. Her sister squints at her for a moment, and Allie wonders if she somehow has superpowers that can tell her it’s actually because Harry once told her they were his favorite. 

They watch ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ and ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ in the den as a family and Allie goes to bed at ten p.m. feeling cookie drunk and happy. 

The next morning, they open presents together under the tree Cassandra and her mother had carefully decorated – Allie had gotten frustrated by their methodical system to hanging ornaments in ten minutes. Allie gets a necklace from her mom, a new book from Cassandra, and an Avengers-themed mug from her dad, who says he’d noticed her watching the movies on their On-Demand account. She feels oddly teary and her dad seems surprised when she hugs him tight, exchanging a bewildered glance with her mother and mumbling, “Well, gee, I didn’t know you liked them that much.” 

She drinks tea in the mug after her parents and Cassandra go to pick up her grandma – she didn’t fit in the car – and stares at Captain America’s face and thinks about the Christmas present she’d bought Harry on a whim. It’s just new film for his camera because he’d mentioned that he likes taking pictures, but she’d gotten it specially wrapped in superhero gift wrap and written a card filled with all the stupid jokes they’d accumulated in the month and a half where she could claim they were actually friends. She hadn’t ever planned on giving it to him; she’d just missed him and thought it would help if she wrote it all down somewhere. 

Suddenly, she knows what she has to do. 

Allie stalls while getting dressed, taking extra care to wear her thickest pair of jeans and her snow boots and looping her scarf around twice. She pulls her hat all the way down over her eyes as she leaves the house, wrapping her arms around herself as she begins the long trek to Harry’s. 

It’s started to snow by the time she gets there, and Allie’s tired and cold and wet and starting to regret this idea immensely. She rings Harry’s doorbell and tells herself that if no one answers in a forty-five seconds, she’ll turn around and go home. 

On second thirty-two, his mom opens the door. She’s ice blonde and in a pressed skirt and blouse combo at eleven on Christmas morning, and her eyebrows disappear into her hairline as she takes in who's standing on her doorstep. 

“Um,” Allie shifts, feeling awkward. “Is Harry home?” 

His mom’s eyes flit over her messy hair and the lumpy package in her arms. She nods eventually, her smile small and strained as she says, “Yes, he’s upstairs.” 

She steps back, and Allie awkwardly slips past her, trying to make it seem like she doesn’t know the way up to his room by heart. When she’s standing in front of the familiar white door, she takes a deep breath before gently knocking. 

“Go away, Mom,” comes Harry’s voice from inside, tired and scratchy-sounding. 

Allie frowns, and then opens the door anyway. “I’m not your mom.” 

Harry shifts at the sound of her voice but doesn’t sit up fully. He watches her step into his room through glassy eyes, a gasp falling from her lips. 

Harry’s room had never been clean, per se - he is a teenage boy, after all – but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen it like this either. There are clothes, books, and shoes all over the floor. She thinks there might be some sort of food rotting somewhere, too, because the smell is overpowering. She stands there for a minute, gaping and trying not to breathe through her nose. 

“Harry,” she says softly. “What happened?” 

He shrugs lightly, burrowing further into the pillow. “Go away, Allie. Don’t pretend like you care.” 

Her heart twists, “I’m not pretending. I care, I’ve always cared.” 

“Really?” he asks with a snort, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe her at all. “So, you decided to show it by avoiding me at school and ignoring my texts?”

She flinches as he says it. “Harry, I did that for a reason that you can’t possibly understand. I did it because I care about you – too much – not because I don’t.” 

He’s still not looking at her. “Just leave, Allie. I don’t care what your reasons are. I don’t want to see you.” 

She feels tear well in her eyes. “Harry, I can’t just leave you here. You’re wasting away.” 

“Yes, you can. Everyone else has.” He sounds small and broken and completely unlike the Harry she knows. 

Allie takes a step towards the bed. The corner of it brushes against her leg. “Well, I’m not everyone else,” she says firmly. The words ‘I’m your soulmate’ hover on her tongue, but she pushes them away. “I’m your...friend,” she finishes instead. “And I’m going to help you.” 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she takes his arm. He refuses to budge for a few moments, even when she gives it a good tug, but eventually he sits up, more out of annoyance than anything. As he sits on the edge of the bed, blinking dazedly, she goes into his adjoining bathroom and turns on the shower. Using his vague directions, she moves around his bedroom until she locates a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that smell okay. She blushes slightly as she feels around in one of his bottom drawers for a fresh pair of boxers, but Harry doesn’t even seem embarrassed as he takes them from her. 

It takes a good bit of wheedling to get him into the bathroom – he’s like a cat afraid of water. She leaves him as he’s removing his shirt, returning to his room where she paces restlessly for a few moments before deciding that she’s going to start cleaning up. 

She begins with locating the source of the smell – a half-eaten sandwich tucked under a pile of clothes. It’s molding, and she holds the bridge of her nose tight between two fingers as she throws it in the trash bag she’s hung on the door. The Binghams have a maid, but she guesses Harry hasn’t been allowing her in here. 

Allie goes through five trash bags – thankfully stored at the bottom of the trashcan in Harry’s bedroom – and fills his laundry bin until it’s overflowing by the time Harry emerges from the bathroom. She’d knocked intermittently to make sure he hadn’t drowned. 

He immediately goes towards the bed to lie down again, but she blocks his way. Instead, she makes it, pulling the sheets back up neatly and folding over the blanket, and gestures for him to sit down with his back against the headboard. Tying the last trash bag, she takes a seat next to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice trying for gentle. She’s attempting not to sound scolding or impatient – she figures he must get that enough from his mom. 

“Not really,” he shakes his head, moving further down the bed. His head falls against her arm accidentally, and she breathes in the smell of his shampoo and something else that's just distinctly him.

“Harry,” she says softly, “You can say whatever you want to me. I’m not going to judge you.” 

He laughs – a harsh sound. “Yeah, so then where were you these last couple of weeks?” 

She winces painfully, “I’m so sorry I abandoned you, Harry. I think I noticed you were struggling, but I never thought it could be so bad because you’re...you, I guess. Harry Bingham, the unofficial king of West Ham.” 

He breathes out, uneven. His voice is bitter as he replies, “Not anymore. Not for a long time.” 

“Since Kelly broke up with you?” 

“Longer.” He looks up at her then, his face oddly vulnerable in the dim afternoon light. “Since my dad died, I’ve felt like I’m...drowning. Like somebody’s pushing my head underwater and I can't get back up. Before Kelly broke up with me, when you and I were still friends, I wanted to fight it. But then I just stopped, I guess. It didn’t seem like there was a point anymore.” 

“Oh,Harry,” she doesn’t think before sliding her arms around his neck. It’s an awkward position – his head is jammed against her collarbone and her chin is pressed to the top of his hair – but it’s one they stay in for a long time. Allie pulls back with reddened eyes, and Harry doesn’t look any better. 

They give each other watery smiles. 

“I’m gonna help you fight it,” she says firmly, one hand on his cheek, holding his head in place so he’s still looking at her. “Okay? No objections. When you’re struggling, you come to me. Even when you think you can’t. _I am not going to lose you, Harry Bingham_.” 

He nods hesitantly but surely enough that she believes him, and then he’s cracking a joke about how she can make a lifeline sound like a threat and they’re laughing. He settles down with his head in her lap and her fingers stroke through his hair gently, tenderly as he entertains her with stories about what the football team had gotten up for their last hurrah of the season and she tells him all about New York (carefully leaving out the part about Zack) and her SAT score and how she thinks she maybe really wants to go to NYU but she isn’t sure how to tell her parents. 

“You can do it, Pressman,” he tells her, lifting his head to look up at her. “I believe in you.” 

The sunlight is streaming in through the windows, making his eyes look gold around the edges, and his hair is still a little wet from the shower and it’s never been easier to bend her head down and breathe her thank-you against his lips. 

It’s just the briefest touch of her mouth to his, but when she pulls back he’s staring at her like he’s never seen her before. 

“What was that for?” he asks, a little unsteadily. 

She shrugs, “No one has ever said they believe in me before. I wanted to thank you.” 

She just kissed Harry Bingham. She knows she should feel weird about it, but she doesn’t. It had felt light, natural, like she’d been doing it forever. 

He nods, still looking a little dazed, but they settle back into their positions without another word. Eventually, she gets up to put on a movie and they watch in comfortable silence until the sun slips behind the horizon and she needs to go. 

She never gave him his Christmas gift. 

Allie realizes this on New Year’s Eve, when her parents are gone, and her sister is off visiting friends at Yale (she’d gotten in Early Decision and, naturally, already has friends). She texts him to come over, and he agrees readily. 

They get side-tracked by the Christmas cookies still resting in the tin on her kitchen counter and Harry looks at her a little too knowingly when he bites into the orange creamsicle and she mumbles “What, I saw it on Pinterest.” 

He just laughs. 

Afterwards, they go into the living room to turn on CNN and watch the New Year countdown and Harry, of course, notices the array of photo albums lining the shelves. He pulls them out and spends a good hour and a half laughing his ass off at photos of her in the bath as a baby or with a bowl of spaghetti all over her head and before she knows it, Anderson Cooper is counting down to ten and Harry’s face is suddenly right next to hers. 

She chickens out and kisses his cheek, and he just smirks. 

“Happy New Year, Pressman,” he says, “I’m glad I got to ring it in with you.” 

She’s smiling way too wide as she mumbles back the same to him. 

Allie gives him his Christmas gift at the very end and makes him promise to only read the card when he’s home by himself. He grins, so bright and brilliant it’s a little bit hard to look at, at her gift and thanks her in a hushed sort of voice that conveys how touched he really is. 

“It was no big deal,” she says carelessly, with the wave of her hand. They’re standing in her doorway now, Allie still in her oversized sweater and jeans while Harry is dressed to go in his winter coat and hat. It’s a little too big for him, and she finds it adorable. “They were having a sale.” 

“Still,” he murmurs, and then dips his head down and presses his lips to hers. Once, then twice. It’s soft and gentle and sends a flood of warmth through her.

“What was that for?” she repeats his words back to him, sounding dazed. 

“I thought that’s how we say thank you now,” he says with a wink. And then he’s gone, sauntering away with a self-satisfied grin as he leaves her standing there with her jaw still hanging open. 

Allie gives him fifteen seconds before she’s running out the door and after him. She grabs the sleeve of his coat to turn him around and then she’s kissing him, the weight of her body as it slams into his making him stumble a little bit. He steadies himself on her waist, his hands hot through the fabric of her sweater, and then he’s kissing her back. 

This. This is why people talk about love set on fire. It feels like she's caught aflame where he's touching her, burning from where his hands tangle in her hair as he holds her against him, his tongue slipping into her mouth. 

He shifts then, one hand gripping her thigh as he hoists her up until her legs are hooked around his waist and he’s backing up so they’re against her house. Her nails dig into his scalp with such ferocity she’s afraid she’s hurting him but from the way he groans into her mouth, she thinks it might be the opposite. 

Harry breaks away for a moment, and their foreheads press hotly together as they breathe collectively into the cold air around them. “What was that a thank you for?” he whispers, his mouth pulling into a small smirk. 

“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” she mumbles, and then she’s kissing him again, his hands hot as they slip beneath her sweater and her back pressing against the stone wall of her house behind them. 

Allie wants to tell him then: that he’s her soulmate and the universe put them together and that’s that why it feels like this, feels so much, but it’s hard to think when he’s touching her like this and even harder to pull her lips away from his to get the words out. 

And so, she doesn’t say it. Instead, she kisses him hard and fiery, soft and sweetly as the snow begins to fall around them and the new year comes to a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no soulmate reveal, I know. There's a bit more angst to come in the next chapter, then the big reveal. 
> 
> FYI, there's only three more chapters left (and one is the epilogue) so our time together is almost over ;( 
> 
> Anyway, I'll try to update more regularly again from now on. Please comment and let me know what you thought of this chapter/what you want to see in the epilogue!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes about the end. 
> 
> P.S. Harry never asks to see Allie's mark because he doesn't want to know. Also, since she's seen his and hasn't said anything, he's operating under the assumption that he's not her soulmate. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!

It turns out that one step in becoming Harry Bingham’s unofficial, secret sort of girlfriend – they have yet to DTR, but Allie swears she’s getting to it, as soon as it’s not all so new and she’s not so helplessly caught up in him – is passing the little sister test. 

They don’t mean for it to happen (there’s still an unspoken let’s-not-tell-anyone rule hanging around them), but one day they’re sitting on Harry’s couch after school watching Cartoon Network and attempting to do their homework when Sarah just happens to walk in. Well, Allie is attempting to do her homework. Harry’s a senior and his college applications have all already been submitted, so he’s more concerned with pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck as she tries her hand at Spanish vocab practice. 

“Harry, stop it,” she complains as his kisses trail from her neck up to her jaw, making her head feel fuzzy. “I have to do a speaking in front of the entire class tomorrow. I can’t look like an idiot."

“I’ll help you practice,” he says with an easy smirk. 

Allie glances at him skeptically, “Can you even speak Spanish?” 

He makes a scoffing sound, like he can’t believe Allie would ever think the great Harry Bingham was incapable of doing something. “Absolutamente.” He looks at her innocently and says with perfect fluency, “Deja de estudiar y besa a tu guapo novio.” 

_Stop studying and kiss your handsome boyfriend_. 

“Tu eres estúpido,” she grumbles, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning in and pressing her lips to his. She can’t help it – he looks adorable with his messy hair and Oreo crumbs from their afternoon snack still clinging to the corner of his mouth. Harry responds with a quick grin against her lips, pulling her up and over his lap. One of his hands runs up and down her spine gently as the other rests on her thigh, and Allie wonders if she’ll ever have her fill of kissing him.

“Harry?” the little voice from the doorway of the living room is like being doused in cold water. 

Harry pulls away from her quickly, throwing her off his lap with a little too much force than necessary. Her shin bangs against the leg of the couch, and she lets out a small yelp. 

Sarah folds her arms over her chest as she studies them, no doubt noting their messy hair and the reddish bruises Harry has left on her neck. She looks like a mini Harry – all devilish dark eyes and curly hair – and Allie can’t help but flush under her scrutiny. 

“What are you guys doing?” she asks suspiciously. 

“Uh, studying,” Harry says in a voice that’s probably a lot less smooth than he intends it to be. He rubs the back of his neck, further ruffling the hair that’s already sticking up from the wind outside and Allie’s hands. “Allie needed help with Spanish.” 

Sarah tilts her head to the side, “It looked like you guys were _kissing_.” 

She says the word like she’d just caught them post-murdering someone and trying to dispose of the body, and Allie holds back a smile. She feels like laughing right now wouldn’t be in her best interest – Sarah may only be nine, but she seems downright terrifying. 

Um,” Harry looks between her and his sister helplessly. 

“Are you his girlfriend?” Sarah turns on her then without waiting for her brother’s response and Allie sputters. Sure, Harry had just called himself her boyfriend a few minutes ago but he’d also been trying to get her to make out with him, so she’s not sure if that really counts. 

After New Year’s Eve, they’d spent the next two days texting nearly every waking second. Their conversation had mostly been the same as before – how Harry was doing, stupid stuff about people at school, Netflix recommendations, random arguments about whether milk or cereal first was the superior method– but with a new element, too. It wasn’t as outright or cliched as a **what are you wearing winky face** in bed late at night, but she’d be lying if she said that some of the stuff Harry had sent hadn’t left her feeling oddly hot and red in the face. 

Still, the next week in school they’d kept their distance. Harry had slowly reacclimatized to his role as king of the school, and Allie had gone back to eating lunch with Will, Sam, and Becca. There were those furtive moments where he’d pull her into an empty classroom and remind her of exactly what they were to each other now, and he always waited for her after school, but they hadn’t ever had the girlfriend talk. 

Now, being stared at by the scariest fourth grader she’s ever met, Allie can’t help but desperately wish they’d had. 

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat and answers for her. She looks at him in surprise, feeling warm all over. He’s flushing, and she can tell it feels good saying it out loud. Keeping their relationship a secret is nice and hot in a way – she kind of likes Harry’s hands all over her in vacant classrooms and having to hide her blush when he sends flirty texts in the middle of a conversation with Will – but sometimes Allie just wants to scream it out loud: I’m dating Harry Bingham. “She is.” 

“Oh,” Sarah surveys her for a second, contemplative. “You’re not Kelly.” 

It’s Allie’s turn to go red in the face as Harry shouts, “Sarah!” in a painfully embarrassed voice. She knows she’s not model-thin and undeniably gorgeous like Kelly, or nearly as smart and kind, but it still feels like a slap in the face hearing it from a nine-year-old she’s just met. 

“What? I’m just saying,” Sarah rolls her eyes at Harry. She turns back to Allie, “Want to play Monopoly?” 

It’s such an abrupt change in topic that she blinks stupidly for a moment, before replying, “Uh, sure.” 

Harry looks confused as well, but he only stops to ask Sarah if she’s finished her homework – to which she responds “Yes, _Mom_ ” – before getting out the game and setting up. They play two rounds and Allie doesn’t let Sarah win just because she’s the kid (she’d hated when Cassandra did that to her when they were little; it took away the sense of accomplishment) but she’s still victorious in the first round anyway. Allie wins the second, and both she and Sarah mercilessly tease Harry about how bad he is at the game. 

Afterwards, the Binghams clean-up while Allie goes into the kitchen to get more Oreos (and some carrots, because kids need their veggies) for Sarah. She accepts them with a pretty little smile that reminds her of Harry, and then settles down on the couch between Allie and Harry to watch her afternoon Nickelodeon shows. Allie works on her Spanish homework, with Harry occasionally helping her out over Sarah’s head, and it feels terrifyingly domestic but also warm and nice and kind of makes her not want to move. She does eventually when all her homework is done, and her mom has texted saying dinner is in a half-hour, reluctantly getting to her feet and packing up her things. 

Sarah watches her zip up her bag and says quietly, “You’re not Kelly, but that’s okay. I like you.”

It’s not exactly the highest compliment she’s ever been paid, but it makes her feel good. “Thanks,” she says with a soft smile, “I like you, too.” 

Sarah grins back brightly, and Harry places a hand on Allie’s back as he leads her to the front door. “Are you sure you’re okay with walking?” he asks worriedly, peering around his dark neighborhood. “I wish I could drive you, but I can’t leave Sarah here alone and my mom would freak if she came home and we were both gone.” 

“I get it,” she says easily, but the concerned line between his eyebrows doesn’t disappear. She takes a step towards him, placing her hand on his cheek as she kisses him gently, “You don’t need to worry about me, Bingham. I’ll be alright.” 

He looks at her strangely then, kind of like he almost can’t believe she’s real, and she swallows hard. ‘I love you’ is on the tip of her tongue, because she does, she has, longer than she cares to admit, but she forces it back. 

“Sarah liked you,” he says with a pleased smile. “She doesn’t take to everyone that fast. It took Kelly a good month.” 

That makes her absurdly glad, which she kind of feels bad about because Kelly is still as nice as ever, so she just murmurs back, “I liked her, too. She’s a good kid.” 

They share one last smile before she steps away and into the darkness. 

The next day at school, Harry finds her while she’s studying alone in the library before her Spanish speaking exam. She’s kind of flipping out because public speaking is so not her thing and she hasn’t studied nearly enough, but Harry seems to sense all of that because he comes to her all work and no play. He quizzes her on fifty words from her vocab list and goes through one full conversation with her and he’s not shy about correcting her mistakes, but he also praises her every time she uses an advanced vocab word or nails a complicated grammatical structure and she feels soft and happy and significantly less like she’s on the verge of tearing her hair out. 

He kisses her once, twice for good luck when he leaves. 

She aces the test. 

Things go significantly less smoothly with her own sister. 

A month into whatever she and Harry are, Allie sits down one night and decides that alright, this has gone long enough, she has to tell Cassandra. Her sister’s room door is closed when she goes to knock and that’s never a good sign, but Allie still raps on it anyway, hoping that she’s just resting or something. 

Instead, Cassandra is pacing back and forth and when Allie asks what’s wrong, she pulls her gaze away from her phone for one second to spit out, “Harry Bingham.” She doesn’t specify, and Allie’s already backing away before she can elaborate, down the hall to her own room where she flops down on the bed and wonders how, out of everyone else on the planet, she managed to fall in love with the one person who will hurt her sister the most. 

Allie and Harry talk about everything, but there’s two topics that they carefully avoid. 

The first is, obviously, Cassandra. Allie wonders how Harry is so okay with kissing her one minute and antagonizing her sister the next, but she can’t exactly ask him that. She only mentions it once, asking if he’ll go easier on her, and Harry nods begrudgingly without looking happy about it. 

The second is soulmate marks. It should be easy to just tell him now: there’s no Kelly and they’re together and she thinks they’re happy, but there’s still something holding her back. Maybe it’s the memory of the way he’d reacted to her questioning him about his soulmate – he’d responded with a certain vehemence that makes her think there’s more to the story. 

She finds out what that is one lazy afternoon when they’re in his room and he’s just finished introducing her to his favorite video games. Allie finds it cute how animated he gets when he’s explaining how to play, and so for his sake she plays one round of Odyssey before totally crushing him in Super Smash Bros. Afterwards, they settle back on his bed, their shoulders touching as they gaze up at his ceiling. He must’ve had glow-in-the-dark stars up there once, because there’s glue residue everywhere and one is still hanging on, a dim yellow in the near darkness of his bedroom. It’s six o’clock but it’s February, so night has already fallen. Allie should be getting home soon but she doesn’t have the energy nor the will to disentangle her limbs from Harry’s and move. 

She shifts on the bed to look up at him, noting how he looks more exhausted today than he has in a while. He’d been quieter, too, and she wonders what’s on his mind. He’d gone to a psychiatrist to be officially evaluated over December break, and she knows he’s started a round of anti-depressants. She wonders if he’s still taking them, but she thinks he’d probably tell her if he’d stopped. 

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, and Harry glances down at her, his eyes tired. For a moment, his face goes closed off and she thinks he might shut her out, but then he shakes whatever it is off and places his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. She goes willingly, resting her head on his chest, right above his heart. She can hear it beating. 

“I’m thinking about my dad,” he admits. 

Oh. Allie, who has two living and healthy and loving parents, doesn’t quite know what to say to that. 

“It’s been around six months since he died, right?” 

“Almost seven,” Harry winces painfully. “It doesn’t feel like that, though. Sometimes, I wake up in the mornings and it feels like he’s still here. I’ll be sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for him to come sit down next to me and start reading the paper, and then I’ll realize, and it’ll start to hurt all over again.” 

She hears the pain in his voice and it hurts her, too. She wonders if it’s because she’s his soulmate, or because she’s in love with him. Either way, she presses a kiss to his skin through the fabric of his sweater, wishing it could heal his aching heart. 

They’re quiet for a minute, Harry twirling her hair between his fingers, and Allie’s eyes are almost slipping shut when he says, “He cheated on my mom.” 

“ _What?_ ”

“When I was eight. They thought I didn’t know, but I heard them fighting. The only reason they stayed together was because my mom found out she was pregnant with Sarah.” 

“I didn’t know that,” she says. His heart is beating faster now. “Your parents always seemed so perfect.” 

“They were, I guess. After it happened - and before, too - my dad was a great husband and father. I want to remember him like that, but sometimes I’ll think about what he did to my mom and it makes me hate him, just a little bit.”

She hears what he doesn’t say: I’m scared I’m going to be like him. 

“Do you know why he did it?” 

Harry laughs, bitter and sharp. “Yeah, I do. It’s because he met his fucking _soulmate_.” 

Allie stops breathing for a second. Harry must feel it, because his arm tightens slightly, questioningly. She forces herself to relax, “Your parents weren’t soulmates?” 

“No, and they were happy. That just shows how the marks don’t mean a fucking thing. You don’t need them to love someone. They just make people go crazy and do stupid shit that messes up their entire lives.” 

She’s taken aback by intensity of his tone, lifting her head up from his chest. She sits up, searching for her socks. Harry watches her.

Allie takes a deep breath, forcing back the tidal wave of hurt and sadness and okay, anger too because why can’t Harry step back from his own pain and consider that soulmate marks mean something, that they exist for a reason, that maybe the universe puts people together because they’re just _right_?

“So, you really don’t care who your soulmate is?”

“Nope.” His response is rapid and nonchalant, and that irritates her for some reason. She pulls on her socks faster, grappling for her shoes. “In fact, I never want to know.” 

There’s a dull pain in her stomach. She laces her boots so tightly she’s pretty sure she’s cutting off the circulation to her foot, tears blurring her vision. “I believe in soulmates,” she says, without turning around. 

She feels Harry tense. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Allie,” he replies stiffly.

“What if I found mine, and I wanted to be with him? What would you do?” Obviously, she’s already found her soulmate. Still, she needs to know suddenly, if he feels the way she does, if he’s in just as deep as she is, if he’s just as terrified of losing her. 

“I would want you to be happy. If you think being with a guy just because he happens to have the same mark as you would make you happy, then be my guest.” 

“So, you’d just let me go?” A tear slides down her cheek. “You wouldn’t care?” 

“We’re in high school. We’ve been together for what, a month? I can’t answer that question right now.” His voice is tight and angry, and she thinks they might be having their first ever fight and god, she hates it so much. 

“Okay,” she says unsteadily, grabbing for her coat and shoving her arms through the sleeves. Harry has gotten to his feet and is watching her warily. The lights are still off in his bedroom and she hopes he can’t see that she’s crying. She turns around and heads for the door, stumbling blindly over the odd item lying on the ground. 

He lets her go. 

Harry comes to see her the next day. 

He shows up at her door at eleven in the morning, which she thinks is fairly daring of him considering he has no way of knowing that Cassandra and her parents aren’t home. She answers the door in pajamas with her hair pulled into a ratty bun at the top of her head. 

He’s holding a cupcake box – looking perfectly put together - and his face goes soft and guilty the moment he takes in her face, her nose and eyes still red from crying herself to sleep the night before. 

“Fuck, Pressman, I’m so sorry,” he says, stepping inside. She takes the cupcake box from him and mechanically goes into the kitchen to put it in the fridge without saying a word. 

“Are you?” she asks eventually, resting her hands on the kitchen counter. They’re on opposite sides, staring across at each other. “You didn’t seem like it last night.” 

“I was fucked up about my dad,” he admits and then glances down at his hands, which she notices are clenching the counter so tightly his knuckles are white. “And I was...scared.” 

“Scared?” Her voice has grown soft without her realizing it. “Of what, Harry?” 

“Of the way I feel about you,” he says without looking at her. “Allie, I...” He trails off, his voice oddly raw. 

She crosses the kitchen until she’s standing next to him. “Harry?”

He seems to gain some confidence now that she’s beside him, her hip brushing against his arm, close enough to feel his body heat. “I think I love you,” he says all in a rush and she goes still. 

“What?” 

He looks away, two red splotches appearing on his cheeks. “I know we’ve only really been together for like a month and a half, but you’re all I think about and I want to see you like all of the time and I love the way your face lights up when I make you laugh and sometimes I think I would do just about anything if I could get you to keep looking at me like that.” 

She doesn’t think, she just kisses him. She cuts him off as he opens his mouth – to continue or to take it back, she doesn’t know – pressing her lips against his and winding her arms around his neck. She’s not sure if she brushed her teeth this morning and she’s not wearing any makeup and these pajamas are probably like ten years old, but Harry doesn’t seem to care about any of that as he kisses her back, his hands settling on her waist, urgent and all-consuming and like it’s all he’s wanted to do for a long, long time. 

She breaks away, but he holds her close, their noses still brushing. “Allie?” he asks, his voice equal parts hopeful and scared. 

“You were an ass last night,” she declares, and his face falls. “But I love you, too. And it terrifies me sometimes because I’ve never felt anything like this before.” 

“I’ve never felt anything like this, either,” he whispers, and she doesn’t know if he’s just saying that, if he’s like this with Kelly, too, like this with all the girls, but then they’re kissing again, and it doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Hiding her soulmate mark from Harry starts to prove harder than she ever could have imagined, especially when February rolls into March and suddenly things are going much further than chaste kisses and making out in his car. 

Harry is surprisingly patient and gentle with her, seemingly content with just kisses and the occasional slip of hands below her shirt. He touches her over her bra sometimes and it feels really, really good, but he never pushes it past that and she doesn’t have the words to tell him that he can. 

One day in early March, they’re making out on his bed, one of Allie’s legs around his waist and his hand resting just above her jeans, when Harry suddenly stiffens and pulls back. Allie whines a little at the loss of contact, and he laughs, even though he still looks a little uncomfortable. 

“We should stop,” he says, his face kind of red as he looks away from her. 

“We don’t have to,” she blurts, still lying on his bed, feeling hot and flushed and like she really wants to feel Harry’s hands on her body again. 

“Allie,” he says roughly, his eyes dark as he looks down at her. His gaze is searching, and he must find whatever he was looking for on her face because he nods, a little jerkily. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, dummy,” she says, looping her arm around his neck and pulling him close. His body is directly over hers, and she feels dizzy from all the points where he’s touching her. “I’m not a little china doll, Harry. You can touch me. _I want you to_.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing her again. It’s a little more insistent this time, and so are his hands as they slip fully under her top. They stroke up and down her stomach, making her giggle lightly, and then settle on her breasts. She breathes a little shakier against his mouth, and he pulls back slightly to drop kisses along her neck and collarbone. 

He’s going to leave a mark, she thinks as Harry sucks on the delicate skin at the curve of her throat, but she doesn’t care. 

He reaches for the button of her jeans next, decidedly less sure, and she puts her hand over his and guides it down, until he’s slipping his fingers under the waistband of her underwear. She lets out a choked sound, grasping at his arms. His shirt had been lost somewhere along with hers, joining both their shoes and socks on the floor. 

“Easy,” Harry murmurs, and he kisses her as his fingers gently move against a spot that makes her lose all sensical thought. It burns a little when he slips them inside, and she squirms in discomfort, but Harry is there, warm and reassuring, and eventually it gives away to a strange pressure in the pit of her stomach that makes her toes curl and her back arch of the bed. It feels like a small explosion inside her when she comes, and she relaxes against his sheets when it’s over, her skin sweaty and flushed.

Harry is moving away, reaching for his shirt, when she touches his arm. “What about you?” 

His eyes go wide, and he stammers out, “I-it’s okay. I, um, I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.” 

“What if I do?” she asks softly, hardly knowing what she’s saying when he’s looking at her like that, his gaze dark and making her insides feel melty. 

“Allie,” he breathes, and then she’s reaching up to bring his mouth to hers again. Her other hand trails down his hard stomach to the zipper of his jeans. She drags it down, and he kicks his jeans off. He’s wearing just his boxers now, and both of them are breathing hard. Tentatively, she slips her hand underneath. 

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs gently again, even though she can see from the look on his face that his body is probably telling him something different. 

“I want to. And anyway, I’ve done this before.” She’d been fifteen, and she’d met him while she was visiting her aunt in California in July. Her first summer fling. 

Harry makes a face, “So did not need to know that, but okay.” 

She laughs against his mouth, and he shuts up soon enough, because her hand is touching him, lightly at first and then stroking as she grows more comfortable. It makes her feel good just doing this to him; it’s kind of empowering in a way to see the effect she has on him, to know that she’s the one who’s making him feel like this. 

Afterwards, Harry changes into a fresh pair of boxers and pulls his jeans back on. He hands Allie her shirt and she’s standing up to pull it back on when she realizes that from where he’s standing, he’ll be able to catch a direct glimpse of her bare back. 

“Um,” she hovers awkwardly for a moment, “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” 

Harry frowns, buttoning up his shirt. “What, are you self-conscious or something?” He sounds a little incredulous, and she gets that she probably seems ridiculous, not wanting to get dressed in front of him when he had his fingers inside of her not twenty minutes ago. 

“I need to pee,” she says, and Harry doesn’t look like he totally believes her. But he turns around to pick up his socks and she takes advantage of his momentary distraction by slipping into the bathroom before he can look up. 

She wonders how much longer this can go on. 

“Chocolate or vanilla?” 

Allie’s sitting on the floor of Harry’s bedroom, her back pressed against his closet door. He’s just finished helping her with her pre-calc homework, and he’s wearing his glasses. She keeps sneaking glances at him because fuck, Harry with glasses and a day’s worth of stubble is doing things to her insides. 

“Chocolate cake, vanilla ice cream,” she hums, then shoots him a look. “We’ve been over this, Bingham.” 

“Hot or cold?” 

“Cold,” she says dreamily and a little forlornly. Winter is almost over. “I love the snow.” She sighs, “It sucks that we didn’t get that much this year. I would have destroyed you in a snowball fight.” 

He laughs dryly from the bed. “Next year, Pressman. You’ll have to put your money where your mouth is.” 

She mouths off something snarky, but really, she feels all warm and lit up inside because Harry said next year even though it’s a whole twelve months away and he’s going to be in college and everything will be different and yet. 

He still wants her. 

Cassandra eyes her at breakfast one morning, “You look happy.” She says it almost suspiciously. 

“I am, I guess,” Allie shrugs, keeping her eyes trained on her cereal. 

“You worked out things with Will?” 

“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p,’ even though it’s not Will who’s putting the smile on her face these days. 

They’re still friends though – she wouldn’t just abandon him, no matter how much she’s gotten tangled up in Harry as of late – and they’ve even reinstated Saturday night movie nights (Harry is not pleased, she can tell, but it’s not really up to him). 

“I’m glad,” Cassandra says softly, and squeezes her hand before she stands up to go put her bowl in the sink. “Happy looks good on you.” 

“Thanks,” Allie says with a small, forced smile, hoping she doesn’t sound as guilty as she feels. 

One April morning, Allie is in the last stall of the girl’s bathroom wondering whether she really has to pee or not when she hears one of the girls who’d been re-applying her lip-gloss in front of the mirrors say, “Oh my god, did you _see_ the hickey on Harry’s neck during math this morning?” 

Allie chokes. 

“No,” her friend sounds almost jealous, like she’d missed out on seeing one of the world’s great wonders. “Is it big?” 

“Yeah,” the first girl says meaningfully, “It was so obvious. I’m surprised he didn’t try to cover it up.” 

“Maybe he’s trying to make Kelly jealous,” a third voice says thoughtfully. “Who do you think it was?” 

“I don’t know, but it’s definitely not serious. There’s no way he’s over Kelly. They were, like, the perfect couple.” 

Allie feels her face start to burn, and she simultaneously feels hot and cold all over. She’s been keeping Harry a secret because she doesn’t want to hurt Cassandra, but now she thinks that this is another reason, too. 

Harry may look at her like she’s everything, but she’s still not Kelly and no one would make the mistake of thinking she could ever measure up. 

Harry’s mom and sister are going to go visit his grandparents in Florida for spring break. He’s not going – “It’s hot as hell, and Disney World is so _not_ the most magical place on Earth,” he says when she asks him why – and she’s staying home, too.

According to her parents, it’s because things are too chaotic at her dad’s work. Allie believes them – he’s been distracted for months, often missing dinner because he’s working late and disappearing into his study even when he’s home. 

Harry invites her to stay at his house over the weekend. 

She raises her eyebrows, both because there’s no fucking way her parents would ever agree to that and also because an overnight stay implies going somewhere they haven’t been before and she’s a little terrified but also kind of just eager to get it over with because she’s ready, been ready, and she just wants to be on the other side of it. 

Allie ends up telling her parents she’s sleeping over at Becca’s house. She’s never lied to them before, so they accept it readily. Cassandra is harder to fool, but she also seems to be living on another planet lately, constantly texting this guy she met at the Admitted Students weekend at Yale.

Harry is going to Columbia. He’d found out a couple of weeks ago and he’d snuck into Allie’s room that night, admitting that he was worried about leaving Sarah alone but also kind of excited because West Ham is getting old and his house is just so fucking depressing all the time and does that make him a terrible person? She’d kissed away his insecurities and confessed her own – that she's scared about having him so far away, in a new city with bright lights and people who are infinitely cooler and more sophisticated and more interesting than she is. 

“Nah,” he’d said with a smile, pressing a kiss to her hair, “You’re one-of-a-kind, Pressman.” 

She arrives at the Binghams on Saturday morning, bringing only a duffel bag with a pair of pajamas, some underwear, and one top. Allie already keeps a drawer of her things in Harry’s room and if that’s in too deep then sue her. 

Harry meets her in his kitchen, where he’s already working on whipping something in a small bowl. He sets her to work on chopping fruit, and, surprisingly, she only gets one small cut. Harry shakes his head at her, but he’s smiling in a fond way as he wraps the Hello Kitty band aid around her finger. 

Harry’s mixture ends up turning into crepes. They make four different kinds: banana Nutella, strawberry chocolate, cinnamon sugar, and cheese. Allie tries every kind, and she thinks she might like the cheese one the best. He’d made it with this special kind she doesn’t know how to pronounce, claiming his mom has it specially imported from France. 

She makes Harry eat all the bananas on her last one, scooping up the Nutella with her finger. 

“You’re a heathen,” he tells her, but he’s no better when it comes to strawberries. 

He swipes Sarah’s nail polish when she complains she needs a pedicure and they eat caramel popcorn as he paints her toenails watermelon red. She challenges him to a contest to see who can fit more popcorn in their mouth at one time and, naturally, he wins. Allie nearly chokes, but Harry thumps her on the back and hands her water and asks what she’s going to do without him next year.

It makes her sad just thinking about it. 

Afterwards, they scroll through Netflix for a little while until they finally settle on Stranger Things, which Allie has been hearing about forever but has never gotten a chance to watch. They get through both seasons, and Allie has way too big of a crush on Steve Harrington by the end of the second. 

She googles Joe Keery, the actor who plays him, and pouts when she finds out he’s nearly thirty and way too old for her. Harry seems oddly relieved. 

Of course, they’re hormonal teenagers and Netflix and chill quickly takes on its alternate meaning. They kiss messily on the couch before Harry asks if they want to go in his hot tub and she looks at him incredulously, “How the hell did I not know you have a hot tub?” 

He just shrugs and leads the way. She didn’t bring a swim suit, so they jump in in their underwear. She makes sure to keep her shirt on, though, and she looks away when she sees the question in Harry’s eyes. 

He lifts her onto his lap beneath the water. She swipes under her eyes, where she’s sure her mascara has started to come off. “I look like a panda, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” he says easily, and she smacks him. He laughs, breathing in her ear, “It’s kind of sexy.” 

They make out until her bra is floating on the surface of the water and their fingers start to turn prune-y. It’s well after midnight by the time they make it back up to his bedroom and she’s too tired to do anything besides change into one of his old t-shirts and get into bed. Harry is the little spoon and she settles against his back like a monkey, falling asleep to the rhythm of his breathing and to him drawing soft circles against the skin of her wrist. 

They have sex when they wake up, and it’s painful and a little bit awkward and she thinks Harry has a much better time than her. He’s apologetic and sweet afterwards, and he makes her come with his mouth and she believes him when he says it gets better with time. 

It does. She finds that out late on Sunday night, this time in the shower. It hurts less this time and it helps that they’re under the warm spray of water and that Harry’s mouth is doing wonderful things to her neck and chest and that his fingers have joined the mix this time around. Her limbs shake a little bit when she comes apart and she’s never felt so close to someone before and she finally gets why people do stupid things for this – break up relationships and ruin lives. 

Still basking in the afterglow, Allie turns around to turn the water back to hot – it had started to grow chilly while they were otherwise occupied – not noticing that her back is to Harry. 

She feels him suddenly grow very, very still. 

And then his hand is on her back, warm and rough and trembling as he moves her wet hair to the side and completely uncovers her shoulder. Allie closes her eyes, letting the water pour over them as she enjoys ten more seconds of peace before everything completely and totally goes to shit. 

Harry traces the mark with his finger faintly. 

“What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of you who commented on the last chapter!! Please keep letting me know what you guys think - it really does motivate me to get these out faster!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Oh my god, you guys, I'm so sorry for the long delay. I had the busiest two weeks of my life: in addition to my friends making way too many plans and my job, i've had so much family over that at one point there were 21 people living in my house. Not to mention college starting in just two weeks ahhh!! 
> 
> Anyway, I don't love this chapter (it's a bit rushed) which is sad because I really wanted to. But I wrote this on the literal two hour break I had free (my first one in idk how many days) and am just choosing to post it even though I'm not happy with it because I don't know when I'll get time to edit it to my liking or possibly rewrite it. 
> 
> I promiseee the last chapter (the epilogue!!!) will be LONG and up by Wednesday. I'm trying to get this story done before college hits, so I'm really going to try and stay up and get the epilogue done. It's already 1 am so I'm probably going to be dying tomorrow but you guys have been so nice and patient in waiting for me to get my shit together that I will try my best to finish it 
> 
> Lastly, I've noticed that a lot of you have been leaving comments - which I appreciate so, so much - but I haven't gotten a chance to read any of them. So, thank you for keeping the feedback coming and after i finish the epilogue I will definitely go to the comments and read/reply!! 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter :))

“Allie?” Harry asks, his voice breathless and disbelieving and shaking. “Allie, what is this?” 

She turns around, her hair slipping from his grasp and falling back against her slick back, covering the traitorous mark in question. The water is still falling steadily between them, and she steps into the stream, her nose almost brushing his. She’s close enough to see the desperation in his eyes, the way he looks at her all helpless and heartbroken like he can’t believe this is really happening. 

“It’s my soulmate mark,” she says quietly. 

Harry pushes his wet hair back impatiently, his eyes wild. “It matches mine.” 

“Yeah,” she breathes out unevenly. “Yeah, Harry, I know.” 

He’d clearly been formulating some idea in his mind, some kind of explanation for why the mark on her back is identical to his and why he’s just finding out about it now, but he falters in the face of her calm response. She knows, she’s known, and suddenly he does, too. 

“When?” he asks, harsh all of a sudden. His features are highlighted under the fluorescent bathroom lighting which no one has a right to look good under but of course, he’s Harry Bingham so he does. His profile is sharp with anger, his eyes blazing and his jaw tightly controlled. He’s never looked at her quite like this and god, she hates it. 

There’s two responses Allie could give here. She could lie, say it was yesterday or this morning or one of the countless other times they’ve hooked up. Or, she could tell the truth: that she’s known for nearly eight whole months and she’s had so many chances to tell him, but she hasn’t because she’s not just a liar but a liar who’s so terrified of losing him that sometimes she thinks she might just fold under the weight of it. 

“Luke’s party,” she says, unable to lie to him when he’s already looking at her with so much hurt in his eyes. “When you changed your shirt in front of me. I saw it then.” 

“But...” he says, his eyes going wide. “That was in _August_. Allie, it’s been months.” 

She shrinks back, stepping out of the spray of water. Instantly, she’s shivering – both from the raw fury in his eyes and the sudden chill. 

“I wanted to tell you. So many times. I just... couldn’t.” 

But Harry is shaking his head, “You’re going to have to do better than that, Allie. You’ve been lying to me for our whole relationship, or whatever this is.” 

“Don’t say that,” she says, on the verge of tears suddenly. “This is the only thing I’ve ever kept from you, Harry. Everything else was real.” 

Reaching behind her, he jerks the shower handle to cut the spray of water. He steps out of the shower roughly, wrapping a towel around his waist. She follows, wrapping her arms around herself. He’s the only boy who’s ever seen her like this, but this time there’s no love or warmth in his eyes and she’s cold and vulnerable. He must sense this, as angry with her as he is, because he reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a yellow towel, wrapping it around her trembling form. 

“How do I know that, Allie?” he asks then, and he sounds more like he’s in pain than anything else. “I mean, why are you really with me? Is it because you love me, or because you’re obsessed with the idea of soulmate marks – just like everyone else?” 

“Of course, I love you,” she says, her voice near-shouting. “Harry, how could you possibly doubt that? I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.” _I probably never will_. 

“I want to believe you,” he says, his eyes searching her face. “But I just...can’t. I’ve seen the power marks have over people. They can completely change who they are.” 

“Maybe that was true in the case of your dad, but think about it, Harry. Maybe the universe gets it right sometimes. Maybe the reason that we’re soulmates is because we actually belong together.” 

Harry laughs, grating and bitter. “And there it is: the real reason you started being my friend this year.” 

“What are you talking about?” Her voice is trembling. 

“You’ve spent your entire life being Cassandra’s shadow, an afterthought, a nobody. You thought that if you could find your soulmate, find someone to _belong_ to, it would finally make it seem like you were enough.” He’s mocking and cold and so unlike the boy she loves, the boy she’s given so much of herself to she’s sometimes scared there’s nothing left. 

“That’s not true. I became your friend because I liked you, Harry. Because you noticed me, because you were kind to me when nobody else was.” Allie reaches up to angrily swipe at the tears flowing down her cheeks. 

“Don’t romanticize our story to fit with whatever soulmate bullshit you’re coming up with inside your head. You were fucked up, I drove you home. I didn’t do it because I felt something special between us, I did it because I thought you were an easy shot at Cassandra and besides, I didn’t feel much like partying anyway.” 

She feels like she’s been punched in the chest. Struggling to breathe, she asks, “And what about after? You didn’t feel anything then, either?” 

Harry just shakes his head, an angry smirk distorting his features. “I’m going to be honest with you, Pressman: almost all of that was just a way to get to Cassandra. I didn’t expect you to fall for it so quickly, but, hey, thanks for making my life easier.” 

He’s lying, trying to hurt her just like she’s hurt him, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. “Shut the fuck up, Harry. You and I both know that’s not true.” 

“Of course, it is,” he smiles in an innocent, confused sort of way. Allie wants to scream or cry or hit something. Preferably him. 

“Okay, then why continue it if you knew I wasn’t going to tell Cassandra? You always went along with keeping it a secret.” She’s trying to get him to crack, but his expression just hardens. 

“Because it was _fun_ , Pressman.” His eyes are cold and mocking. “You just fell further with every little thing I did. I wanted to find out how far I could take it.” 

“You’re disgusting,” she spits, his goading words hitting their target. Her eyes burn with tears of anger and hurt. “I loved you. I lost my virginity to you.” 

His smug expression falters slightly, before he quickly builds it back. He shrugs heartlessly, “Well, then, I guess you should have been smarter.” 

He leans close, “I’m an asshole, Pressman. If you’d been paying attention, you would have realized that by now. I’m not going to change – no matter what you think that mark on your shoulder means.” 

Allie trudges home with her hair still wet, soaking the collar of her shirt, and tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s late April but it’s Connecticut, so it’s cold and windy and she finds herself shaking from both the chill and the sobs that are trapped inside her throat as she lets herself in her front door. 

She can hear the sounds of the TV playing in the den and her parents quietly murmuring to each other between each joke in the latest episode of Modern Family. She creeps up the stairs silently, not wanting them to question what she’s doing back so late or why she’s wearing what’s clearly a guy’s button down or why she’s crying. Upstairs, Cassandra’s door is shut, a tiny light poking out from underneath. 

Allie hovers in front of it for a good few minutes, her hand poised to knock. But then she hears Cassandra laugh from inside, obviously on the phone, and she sounds so happy and so alive and it’s the exact _opposite_ of how Allie feels right now so she just turns around and leaves.

Two days later, she wakes up to the burning urge to pee. And by burning, she means literally. 

She slumps down on the toilet seat when she’s done, near tears. There’s an odd pressure in her lower abdomen, kind of like she has to pee again even though she has yet to flush the toilet. Allie is pulling out her phone to google the symptoms on WebMD when suddenly the bathroom door is opening, and Cassandra walks in. 

Her sister looks at her in surprise when she spots her there: half bent at the middle, clinging to her stomach, her hair falling into her face. Her expression fights between concern and shock as she asks uncertainly, “Are you okay, Allie?” 

She doesn’t know if it’s the way she asks the question or how she’s looking at her or the fact that it’s been over forty-eight hours since she last talked to Harry, but Allie bursts into tears. Cassandra’s eyes go wide and she’s rushing to her sister’s side and demanding what’s wrong. 

Later, after Allie’s sobs have died down onto the occasional hiccup and the toilet has been flushed and the Pressman sisters have located to on the tile floor of the bathroom, backs against the bathtub, Allie lets it all out. 

She tells the story of soulmate marks and cupcake stores, of jealousy and mistakes, of hospital visits and superhero movies, of falling in love and getting hurt, of thank-you kisses and real kisses and everything in between. When she’s done, she leans back against the cool material of the tub and finally, for the first time since she started speaking, looks at her sister. 

Cassandra’s eyes are as wide as saucers, but her expression is thoughtful. 

“So,” Allie says expectantly, impatient and a little self-conscious after quite literally baring her soul, “What do you think?” 

“I think you’re both idiots,” Cassandra says matter-of-factly, and Allie’s mouth falls open. 

She hits her sister’s arm gently, “Hey!” 

Cassandra holds up her arms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying, all of this could have easily been prevented if both of you were a little less clueless about your feelings.” 

Allie hangs her head, “I’m so stupid. I should have told him.” 

“Can’t argue with you there. If there’s anything Harry Bingham hates, it’s being lied to.” 

“I know that,” Allie says, her tone frustrated, “But I didn’t expect him to take it like that. I mean, we’re soulmates...shouldn’t that be a good thing? I thought he’d be happy, after he got over the fact that I’ve been keeping it from him, but he was so angry, so...spiteful.” She swallows, “He really hurt me, Cassandra.” 

Even now, despite knowing that there was no way he meant it, no way he could have faked the way he's been looking at her these last few months, she keeps replaying it her in head: _You were just a way to get to Cassandra. _It makes her feel small and broken and hopelessly sad.__

__“I know,” her sister says, rubbing her arm soothingly. “But I think you hurt him, too. He’s probably doubting your relationship right now – every second you spent together, every kiss, every i-love-you. He’s vulnerable and hurting and that doesn’t excuse anything, but I know from experience that when Harry is in pain, he lashes out.”_ _

__Allie looks up at her suddenly, “You’re being really understanding abut this. Aren’t you mad?”_ _

__“About what?” her sister asks patiently._ _

__“About Harry Bingham – your number one enemy – being my soulmate. About the fact that I’ve been hiding it from your for months.” Allie’s made a lot of mistakes this year, she’s realizing it now. She has to start owning up to them._ _

__“It’s not your fault, silly,” Cassandra says with a little laugh. “The universe put you two together – I’m not about to let some stupid high school rivalry get in the way of my sister’s happiness. And yeah, okay, I’m a little pissed that you kept it from me, that you didn’t let me go through all of this with you, but I get it. You didn’t know how I would react.”_ _

__Allie’s eyes fill with tears, “I love you so much. Have I ever told you you’re the best sister ever?”_ _

__Cassandra squeezes her arm, “I love you too, Allie. But no more crying. First, we’re going to get your ass off the bathroom floor and then on some medication for that UTI. Then, we’re going to fix this.”_ _

__

__

__Allie plans to corner Harry the first day back at school after spring break. Naturally, he does everything possible to mess it up._ _

__First, he gets to school late. She doesn’t see his black Maserati in the parking lot until third period, which means she misses the chance to talk to him before classes start in the morning. Next, he leaves campus for lunch. He takes Kelly – who he’s been talking to again, as friends of course – with him and it makes Allie feel hot and irrationally jealous and she spends the entire period on the verge of angry tears, deflecting every question her lunch table directs her way._ _

__Her afternoon classes are crazy, with spring break assignments to turn in and more than one pop quiz on reading material assigned over the vacation, and by the time the end of the day rolls around, she’s ready to give up her plan and just go home and call it a day._ _

__Only, as she’s walking towards the buses, she spots a flyer hanging by the front doors and realizes exactly where Harry is right now._ _

__She’s out of breath by the time she reaches the auditorium, thankful to her past experiences as assistant stage manager for teaching her how to get backstage without being noticed by the drama teacher. They’re holding auditions for the school play, and everyone trying out is gathered back stage. She spots Will and Kelly and Cassandra – who must realize why she’s here, because she shoots her a quick thumbs up – easily, but there’s no sign of Harry. She rises on her tiptoes to look for him and just when she’s about to give up, she spots him by the back door – looking right at her._ _

__Allie expects him to turn away, but instead his eyes go wide and he walks right towards her. Some magnetic pull tugs her his way as well and they meet in the middle, her hands unconsciously seeking his. He catches them, turning them over in his warm, strong grip, and she feels like she might cry._ _

__“I’m so sorry,” they both say at the same time and Allie bursts out laughing._ _

__“You first,” he says, and she nods._ _

__“I should have told you about the soulmate mark,” she starts, and Harry opens his mouth to interrupt, but she holds up a hand. “Just let me say it.”_ _

__“I should have said something the moment I found out, but you were with Kelly and I was scared that you wouldn’t want me. It was stupid and insecure, but I believed it, so I kept quiet. And then after, you seemed to hate soulmate marks so much that I convinced myself that if I told you we were soulmates, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I think, in a way, they were all just excuses. I was scared of how quickly I fell for you and of how much I loved you.”_ _

__“Love,” she corrects, when his eyes widen. “How much I love you. Which, by the way, is a lot. Like so much that it honestly scares me.”_ _

__He’s smiling now, his hair falling into his eyes. She bites her lip, reaching out to push it back. “So, anything to add, Bingham? I kind of just poured my heart out to you.”_ _

__“I love you too, Pressman," he says, and she feels herself go all warm and melty inside. “I think that’s why I freaked out so much when I found out we were soulmates. I mean, yeah, a part of it was because everything with my dad made me hate the idea of the marks, but also because I was terrified that you didn’t really love me, that the only reason you were even with me was because we were soulmates.” He hangs his head, “I said some really fucked up things to you, Pressman.”_ _

__She squeezes his hand, “Hey, it’s okay.”_ _

__“No, it’s not. I made you think that you weren’t enough. I told you our entire relationship was just some kind of sick game. I said I didn’t care that you loved me, or that I was the first person you ever had sex with. I hurt you, and fuck, it makes me hate myself. That’s why I didn’t call you. Not because I was mad at you, but because I was so pissed at myself.”_ _

__Allie touches his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You’re right, you did hurt me. But I did the same to you. I can’t forgive myself for that either.” She sighs, cupping his cheek. “So how about this? I forgive you, and you forgive me, and we can just believe it for each other.”_ _

__Harry’s eyes seem to glow as he looks at her, “I’m so in love with you, Allie Pressman. Did you know that?”_ _

__“I had an idea,” she says with a laugh. She steps closer to him, lacing her arms around his neck._ _

__“I’m scared I’m going to keep fucking up,” he says when they’re standing toe-to-toe. He sounds nervous, and it tugs something inside of her chest. “I don’t want to break your heart again.”_ _

__She feels for his hand, bringing it up to rest against where her heart beats. “It’s yours to break, Bingham. Besides, I hear a little hurt every now and then is good for you. Builds your moral fiber, or something like that.”_ _

__He takes a shuddery breath, his lips millimeters from hers. “I think I want to be with you for the rest of my life. How scary is that?”_ _

__“Terrifying,” she agrees, and then finally, she kisses him. He grips her waist tightly, his lips hot and insistent, soft and gentle all at once. She melts into him, and it’s only when they’ve both pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, that she realizes that she just kissed Harry Bingham in a room full of people._ _

__Harry seems to realize the same thing and he steps back, his eyes wide._ _

__Everyone is staring at them. Will looks like he’s been punched, Kelly – at his side – is grinning. Cassandra has never looked prouder of her._ _

__And then Grizz lets out a wolf-whistle and everyone starts clapping and it’s like something out of a damn movie._ _

__Harry grips Allie’s hand, smiling so widely she thinks his face must hurt. “I still don’t believe in soulmates, but I’ve got to say it, Pressman. I’m so happy you’re mine.”_ _

__

__

__

__There’s a lot of forgiveness for her and Harry after that, and they try to learn from their mistakes. They’ve been together for months now, longer if they’re being honest, but it’s suddenly new now that they’ve gone public._ _

__Harry no longer meets her in dark corners with her morning coffee, but right in the middle of the courtyard with an accompanying good morning kiss. He catches her in the hallways at school and lets her rant to him about her English teacher or the test she has to stay up late tonight to study for, rubbing soothing circles into her arm right where everyone can see. She rests her head on his shoulder when she’s sleepy during a school assembly, and he presses a kiss to her forehead right before she drifts off. He makes no secret of taking her out to lunch some days – whisking her away to one of their favorite spots for a midday escape from the monotony of homework and exams and expectations – and invites her to join his lunch table when they stay in. Sometimes he talks just to her, and others times she’s content to just let him goof around with the football guys, his hand resting hot against her thigh as she steals French fries off his plate. Grizz is, with the exception of Harry, her favorite guy at the table._ _

__Other times, he joins her at hers. Will and him see eye-to-eye even less now, especially since she’s told Harry of her past feelings for Will and Will is now very aware of her current feelings for Harry, but they make it through the stony silences. They’re helped by Becca’s universally amusing sarcasm and Sam’s inherent sweetness._ _

__Harry knows sign language because his best friend at summer camp had been deaf and fuck, that just makes her love him even more._ _

__They still hang out at his house more than hers, simply because it’s bigger and more entertaining. They play board games with Sarah when she’s around, and one day they all go outside and hang out on their trampoline. Allie teaches Sarah how to do a back flip – giving Harry about a million and one heart attacks – and afterwards they lie down on their stomachs on the tarp, eating the marshmallows Harry had swiped from the kitchen and gossiping about the boy in the fifth grade that Sarah likes (Harry’s face is so pained she has no choice but to kiss it better. Sarah yelps in disgust)._ _

__She gets officially invited to dinner with his mother about a week later. Allie wears a dress and heels and spends an extra fifteen minutes on makeup. Harry kisses her cheek and tells her she’s beautiful when he meets her at the door, but he also looks nervous and apologizes in advance. The meal is awkward and stilted – especially when Allie confesses she’s not sure of her future plans yet – and only Sarah makes it a little better with her comical stories from a long day in elementary school. Allie and Harry go up to his room afterwards and he’s angry at his mom for being a snob about her maybe wanting to go into journalism, but she’s more interested in getting his tie off._ _

__He looks better in formal wear than he has any right to, and his own attention quickly turns to getting her dress off when she kisses him hard. She goes home with her hair messy and her cheeks slightly flushed from that telltale after-sex glow and Cassandra looks her at her a little too knowingly as she asks how dinner was._ _

__Harry gets his own invitation to the Pressman house a few days later. It’s marginally less formal: they eat homemade pizzas off their laps in the backyard as they watch a meteor shower. Her mom loves Harry – he brings her flowers and compliments her cooking so what else does Allie expect? – and Cassandra plays nice and her dad only ever loses his smile when Harry gets maybe a little bit too handsy during star-gazing._ _

__The school play rolls around, and Harry is cast as the lead. Cassandra is opposite him, and Allie is assistant stage manager again. She’s okay with that, though – she kind of likes helping everything run from behind the scenes, like an undercover superhero or something._ _

__Harry constantly pulls her out during breaks to make out or just talk behind the school. Cassandra is less than pleased. Allie kind of loves it - Harry maybe the star, but for those few quiet moments he's just _hers_ – at least until they smell something on their last night. _ _

__Harry pulls her on stage later that night, whipping out flowers and kissing her in front of the audience. He dips her so her hair brushes the ground and when he pulls her back up, everyone is on their feet and applauding. Allie blushes but she’s smiling too wide to really be embarrassed._ _

__They go to his house for the after party, and Harry stays by her side all night, making her try new drinks that he invents all by himself. Some are disgusting, others weirdly good, and they make a game of trying to come up with names for them. Kelly makes everyone talk about prom briefly and Harry winks as he promises a promposal to put all other promposals to shame. Allie whines and asks for details but, of course, he’s like a stone wall._ _

__A couple of days later, they’re boarding buses to go on a field trip while the town officials figure out what to do about The Smell. Allie waves her parents goodbye impatiently before darting off to go say hi to Harry, who’s seeing himself off. He grabs her hand and pulls her into a seat on the bus, their legs pressed against each other. She’s a little upset they’re sitting so far from Will, Sam, and Becca but he makes it better by pulling out the cupcakes he’d woken up early to pick up from their favorite bakery. She kisses the chocolate frosting off his mouth until the football players catcall and then she falls asleep against his shoulder to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hands gently carding through her hair._ _

__When they wake up, everything is different._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please!! Especially on what you want to see in the epilogue...I'm thinking New Ham AU with proposals, weddings, babies and more :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 9k words you guys. Enjoy :)) 
> 
> Hopefully it's an adequate end to this story I've loved writing. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me!! 
> 
> P.S: I realized after writing this that I completely neglected Campbell outside of the first chapter of this story. Just assume that he's still a loner and that he never goes anywhere near Elle, please. Sorry!!

In this world, Allie doesn’t end up at the church party - drunk and sloppy and kissing a boy who doesn’t want her. 

Instead, she’s across town in Harry Bingham’s mansion, sitting with her back against the bed on his bedroom floor. He’s a foot away, their knees brushing as they trade theories across the space between them.

“Government evacuation.” 

“Parallel universe.” 

“Alien abduction.” 

She laughs at that one, in spite of the terror she feels inside. Harry shoots her a wry look, leaning back so his head bumps the wooden desk behind him. 

They’re both unused to feeling so completely helpless – with every message bouncing back and every call going answered, there’s nothing to do besides wait out the night. They’re theorizing to pass the time, and also to somehow rationalize the situation that feels more and more like something out of a sci-fi movie with every second that passes. 

Eventually, Harry gets to his feet, restless and keyed up with useless urgency, and announces that they should probably go to bed. Allie stands then, too, and goes into his bathroom to brush her teeth. Harry joins her at the sink a few seconds later and they exist in a heavy, anxious sort of silence, elbows bumping occasionally as they go about their business. Allie finishes before him and goes down to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Harry’s house is large and ominous in the near-darkness, made even creepier by the distinct absence of Sarah’s vibrant personality, and she hurriedly darts up the stairs when she’s done. Harry’s waiting when she comes back, his face twisting in relief when he spots her like he was terrified that she, too, might be lost. 

She changes into one of his t-shirts – it hangs off her small frame, hitting just above the knee – and climbs into bed besides him. They stare up at the ceiling in silence for a few moments, Harry’s arm heavy around her shoulders as she draws little circles on the bare skin of his chest. 

“I’m scared,” he whispers eventually. “Allie, what if they’re really gone?” 

Allie shuts her eyes against the possibility that she’ll never again see her mother’s warm smile or hear her father’s belly laugh. “It’s going to be okay, Harry,” she lies, shifting closer to him in the darkness. 

Maybe if she thinks it hard enough, it’ll come true. 

Their parents are gone and there are no roads out of town. 

Harry has a panic attack. 

Allie finds him heaving into a paper bag in his kitchen, and her stomach flips at the sight of him so broken down and nervous. She misses the confident and smug Harry she knows so well and the absence of him makes this all the more terrifying. Still, one of them has to be strong, so she approaches him gently, “Hey, Harry, it’s alright.” 

She doesn’t ask him if he’s okay because well, obviously. None of them are. 

He’s pale and shaking and unsteady as she wraps her arms around him, softly stroking the back of his neck as he tries to get his breathing under control. 

Afterwards, she makes them lunch (actually, she just heats up the broccoli and cheddar soup she finds in the back of his refrigerator) under the pretense that there’s no food at her house but really, she just doesn’t want to leave him alone. She thinks he catches on, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, they settle on his couch with their bowls in their laps and watch episode after episode of some Nickelodeon show Sarah has downloaded to their DVR. 

She gets a text from Cassandra sometime in the middle of their third episode – asking her to go down to one of the smaller grocery stores to check the food inventory – and she bites her lip, glancing between her phone and where Harry is staring blankly at the screen in front of him. 

After a moment’s hesitation, she asks if he wants to come with her. She expects him to say no – after all, it’s _Cassandra’s_ plan and Harry has enough food here to not warrant another grocery trip for a solid month – but he agrees readily. He takes her hand as they walk to the store, some of the color back in his cheeks, and they chat aimlessly about everything and nothing. They don’t mention her parents or his mom or Sarah or how the cell service is still down, and they definitely don’t talk about what he’d found this morning either, and for one fleeting moment it feels like they could still be the carefree, in-love teenagers they were just a couple of days ago. 

At the store, Harry keeps a tally as she counts cans and boxes. They only get through half before he gets a text about the football guys organizing a game of Fugitive that night. It’s clear that Harry is interested – even though he feigns indifference in front of her – and she loves him, so she agrees to go. She texts Cassandra about it purposely late, figuring that if she responds telling her to come home instead, she can just pretend she didn’t see it until it was too late. 

She expects it to be a lot of watching Harry do his thing, but, surprisingly, she’s into it, too. Allie’s hair flies as she leans out the window, shouting at Harry to _go_ as she spots a fugitive hightailing it down Main and laughing as she reports news of other sightings from his texts. He lights up as they play, proving just how fast his car really is, and Allie’s heart is beating out of her chest. 

Luke runs her over because good things just don’t happen to her, do they? but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as people claim it does. Though she does think some of the pain is dulled by the adrenaline pumping in her veins and the warmth of Harry’s arms as they settle on the curve of her body, stroking the skin where bruises will surely bloom tomorrow. 

There’s a party at his house after, and the place that’s felt like just theirs for the last couple of days is suddenly filled with people. Allie does her best to play hostess – feeling slightly alarmed that she knows exactly where to find both the chips and the bowls to dump them into – but eventually she settles down by Harry’s side at the pool, exhausted. She turns to him, their arms brushing, “I don’t know how you host so many parties, Bingham. These people are _monsters_.” 

“What, did someone forget to use a coaster?” he asks teasingly, pulling her further into his side. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll thank me when your mom comes back to find her coffee table isn’t ruined,” she grumbles and then freezes, realizing what she’s just said. 

Luckily, Harry doesn’t seem to catch her mistake. Instead he just laughs, looking at her closely, “I’m glad you decided to play today, Pressman.” 

“So am I. I had fun.” She nudges his knee, “And you counted soup cans for me today. I’m sure that was much less entertaining.” 

“I got to spend time with you, so it was still a win,” he says with a shrug and a look she doesn't understand, and she feels her cheeks redden. 

“I don’t get it,” Allie mumbles. 

Harry cocks his head, “What?” 

“The way you look at me...it’s like you can barely believe I’m real sometimes. But I’m nothing special, I’m just me.” 

“Hey,” Harry says, his voice soft, “You’re not just anything. You’re Allie Pressman, the most beautiful, caring, _alive_ person I’ve ever met.” 

“Wow, Bingham, you really know how to sweet-talk a girl,” she’s teasing, but she feels warm all over. Leaning towards him, she presses her lips gently to his. This close to him, it’s easy to forget that they’re surrounded by dozens of their drunk classmates, or that they’re seemingly living in some terrifying alternate reality. 

“It’s one of my many talents,” he says smoothly, and then kisses her again, cupping her cheek. She sighs, shifting closer. A clap of thunder echoes then, and they break away from each other momentarily, looking up at the dark sky. 

“Maybe we should go inside,” Allie says, and there’s no mistaking the suggestion in her words. 

It feels different this time: there’s a new sort of urgency as Harry reaches for the button of her jeans in the dim light of his bedroom, pulling them to her ankles in one swift motion. Stepping out of them, she’s clumsier in unbuckling his belt and undoing the buttons of his shirt. Still, she greedily welcomes every new inch of his skin that’s exposed, pressing kisses to his shoulders as he runs his lips along the dips of her collarbone and the space between her breasts. 

Allie is aching and full of want, barely conscious of anything outside of her own pleasure and the slick sheen of sweat coating their skin and Harry’s clever fingers hooking into the band of her underwear and his quiet murmuring into the damp skin of her neck as he enters her. It’s good in the way that sex with Harry usually is, but so much _more_ for some reason. He holds her gaze throughout, his lips ghosting across her cheeks, her temple, and she thinks she could die from the feeling of being so close to him. 

Later that night, they stand in a shocked circle with Will, Kelly, Gordie, and Cassandra as they watch the rain pour down and the town burn and Allie is nauseous and shaken and petrified but then Harry’s hand slips into hers, her shelter against every storm, and she can’t but feel like maybe they all might just be okay. 

Prom is prom. 

Harry’s not really into the whole idea of pretending like things are normal when they’re obviously not but every girl secretly dreams of her prom night, so he tries for Allie, he really does. 

He’s one of the few guys who swings for a promposal – feigning a cooking emergency so she’ll come over, only to surprise her with an elaborate flower and lights display spelling out PROM? on his front lawn. Allie can’t stop smiling afterwards, running into his arms and kissing him over and over. He lifts her up, spinning her around once, and then looks at her quizzically, “So what’ll it be, Pressman, yes or no?” 

He’s proud of himself, she can tell. For a moment, she debates saying no, just to fuck with him. 

(But she can’t do that to him, not really.)

He arrives at her door at seven thirty sharp. Her dress is still unzipped, and her hair is still only half-curled. She yelps when she hears the doorbell, rushing downstairs in her Ugg slippers and exclaiming how she’s sorry, she just needs five more minutes. Of course, she really means twenty, but whatever. 

Harry just shrugs, content to sit on her bed and eat the gummy sharks she keeps stashed in her nightstand drawer as he watches her put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup. “You’re already pretty,” he says when she goes into a long rant on the necessity of contour, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress her smile.

They get to the school late, but no one is really looking at them, anyway. The hours pass in a haze of sneaking sips of the vaguely sweet whiskey concoction Harry mixes them, dancing very badly and very messily (it’s all kind of a blur of her arms around Harry’s neck, lots of elbow action, and his hands gripping her waist to make sure she doesn’t topple over) to songs from the era of Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake rather than Cardi B and Post Malone, and escaping to Harry’s house at the end of the night. 

They make out messily in his bed, but they’re both a little too tipsy to figure out how to get Allie out of her dress, so instead they settle for reheating pizza and flopping down on their stomachs to play video games. 

It’s not the prom night Allie dreamed of, but, in its own way, it’s perfect. 

Cassandra Pressman lives to see the next day. She wakes in her own bed, alone, but with Gordie sleeping in the chair just a few feet away. Blushing at the fact that he’d stayed to make sure she made it home okay, she creeps downstairs to make him a thank-you breakfast, smiling softly to herself all the while. 

At the Bingham house, Kelly wakes them up with news that rocks Harry’s world. 

He’s angry after she leaves, clearly shaken from the news that his parents weren’t who he thought they were, maybe they never were, and what does that say about him? He shuts himself in his room with the blinds drawn, hostile whenever Allie attempts to start conversation. She sits quietly in his kitchen, hoping that this won’t be what ends them. 

She’s in too deep to make it out with her heart intact. 

Harry comes out about an hour later, rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish. 

Allie glances at him hesitantly, “You okay?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t really know.” 

“Sounds complicated.” 

He blows out a breath, “It is. I’ve always been so convinced that soulmate marks were bullshit, but who knows now, really? My dad cheated on my mom, my mom started sleeping with a married guy before his body was even cold. Maybe they should have just listened to the universe instead, ended up with their soulmates instead of each other.” 

She stands up, placing a hand on his sleeve as she smiles gently at him. “But then you wouldn’t be here. What would the world be like without Harry Bingham?” 

He just looks at her, an oddly vulnerable expression crossing his face. 

Allie answers before he can, her voice firm. “I don’t want to think about it. All I know is that that world is one I wouldn’t want to live in.” 

Slowly, Cassandra builds a new society from the ground up. 

With her council of Grizz, Will, Allie, and Harry (who reluctantly agrees to participate, Allie may have to slip him a bribe or two), she comes up with rations and job rotations and an order that, miraculously, helps keep them alive. 

Five months in, Allie permanently moves into the Bingham house. Cassandra is sad to see her go (Allie, too, is disheartened by the fact that her sister will no longer be just a door away to go to for boy advice or help with her hair or to borrow a tampon when she runs out) but she gets it. It makes sense: Allie already sleeps there most nights, moving in will save her having to make the trek back to her own house every morning for new clothes. 

Harry helps her move during the last week of October. They pack all her things into boxes - he mercilessly teases her for the extensive collection of One Direction and Justin Bieber posters she’s kept hidden in her closet - and fill the trunk of his car to the brim. Even then it takes two trips and he never once stops complaining about how girls have _so much_ stuff, at least not until Allie shuts him up with a kiss. 

Over the month of November, they work on transforming Harry’s room into a bedroom fit for them both instead of just a teenage boy. In exchange for her agreeing to keep her Harry Potter paraphernalia in the basement, he acquiesces to shelving half of his video game collection. 

They paint the room light green and by the end of it, you can’t tell where Harry begins and the paint starts. Allie dies laughing and takes about a million pictures. 

She hangs her tops next to his seemingly endless collection of button downs, stores her jeans and shorts in the drawer under his pants. Her beat up Converse lounge on the shoe rack next to his expensive leather shoes and white sneakers. In the bathroom, she keeps her makeup next to his shaving stuff and there’s only one kind of shampoo in the shower because he likes the way her hair smells so much he’s started using the same products. 

There’s traces of them together all across the house, too: her Avengers mug lined up beside his plain black one (just like he takes his coffee, ew) in the kitchen, her set of keys hanging right next to his in the foyer, their winter coats hanging side by side in the coat closet because it’s rare one of them is here while the other is gone. 

His housemates notice, of course. And they can’t help but whisper. 

They’re all still teenagers, their relationships mostly dependent on whatever their hormones are telling them that day: hooking up in their childhood bedrooms, drinking behind the church, driving around town in their expensive cars. 

But Allie and Harry are falling asleep in the same bed every night and cuddling on the couch on snowy afternoons and doing laundry together and they’re starting to feel more and more like forever.

Allie is visiting Cassandra on a cold day in December when Greg Dewey shows up to their front door with a gun. There’s been some general unrest – mostly just teenagers tired of being told what to do and all that goes into running a society – and that’s part of why Allie is staying at her sister’s for the night. Cassandra is upset about some stunt Lexie Pemberton had pulled at the Thanksgiving feast a couple of weeks ago, and they’re definitely in need of some quality sister time to make her feel better. 

When there’s a knock at the door, Allie thinks it’s Harry bringing over the sweatshirt she’d left behind. 

Instead, it’s Greg Dewey – the skinny kid in her math class she almost never noticed – pointing a gun right at her chest. 

Allie forgets how to breathe. 

“Let me in and close the door,” Dewey tells her, and his voice is shaking. So is his hand. She’s slightly terrified it’ll slip and pull the trigger. 

She steps aside, letting Dewey shoulder past her – his gun still trained on her. She shuts the door behind her, wishing desperately for someone, anyone to come save them. Will, Becca, and Sam had left just five minutes ago to the cafeteria for dinner. Gordie and Bean are stuck researching something at the library – she has no idea when they’ll be back. 

And Harry. He’s a mile across town, maybe reading a book or watching a movie, thinking she’s safe and sound with her sister and that she’ll be back tomorrow morning. 

When she steps into the living room, Dewey is standing at the center, his gun now pointed at her sister. For a minute, adrenaline rushes through her veins, urgency seizing her, and she pictures shouting at Cassandra to run as she pins Dewey to the ground, grabbing for the gun. 

But then he’s turning around, interrupting her fantasy, and she’s staring down a barrel of a gun once more. “Move,” he tells her harshly, pushing her so that she and Cassandra are standing shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Once he has his weapon trained on them both at once, he seems at a loss for what to do. He fidgets nervously, and Cassandra takes the opening. 

“Greg,” she says, and he jolts. “What are you doing?” Her voice turns pleading, “If you want to talk, we can. Just put the gun down. Please.” 

He shakes his head wildly, his grip tightening on the gun once more. “I don’t want to talk to meddling bitches like you.” His lip curls, “Both of you go around town acting all high-and-mighty, like you own the place. But who put you in charge, huh? Who gave you the right to tell all of us what to do?” 

“No one,” Allie croaks, the words forcing themselves out of her throat. She forces her voice to gentle, “You’re right, Dewey. No one put me or Cassandra in charge. She – we – just stepped up because we didn’t think anyone else was going to. But we can fix that. We can have elections, real ones, and pick our leaders.” 

Cassandra gives her an encouraging nod, but her voice breaks as she speaks, “Please, Dewey, listen to her. We can fix this, we can have elections. Just let us go first.” 

For a moment, he looks like he’s actually considering their words. But then his expression morphs into something desperate and twisted and Allie can only describe it as the moment she knew that there was no coming back from. 

“No,” Dewey says with a jerky shake of his head. “No, I can’t do that. You’re lying.” He lifts his gun again, frenzied and agitated, “I _have_ to stop you.” 

In that second, Allie’s life flashes before her: walking to school with Cassandra as a kid, meeting Will for the first time, her parents’ proud smiles on her first day of high school, dancing with Becca at that party in New York. And Harry – meeting him, knowing him, loving him. 

She may be on the verge of losing it all, but at least she got the chance to experience it. Most people go a lifetime without ever feeling ling what she does with Harry. 

She shuts her eyes, lowering her head to accept her fate. 

But then the door flies open, and Will is standing in the doorway, Becca right behind him. Her hand flies to her bump the moment she sees the gun, some inherent maternal instinct likely kicking in. 

It’s only twenty seconds, but it’s enough. Dewey glances helplessly between the Pressmans and the doorway and Allie lunges forward, grabbing for the gun. It fires – thankfully just at the sofa – as Allie yanks it out Dewey’s hands, tossing it to Cassandra. Carefully, she empties the bullets and places it on the coffee table. 

Dewey, now empty-handed, stands in the middle of the room. For a split second, his gaze catches Allie’s and she sees a lot there. Panic, fear, but most of all: _hatred_. 

She shivers. 

And then the moment is over, and Will is tackling him to the ground, grabbing for his arms and shoving him out the door. Allie isn’t sure what happens next but she’s glad he’s gone, that they’re taking him away. 

She slumps against the couch and she doesn’t move again until there’s sudden shouting and then Harry is before her, his hands on her arms, moving up and down like he’s checking for invisible injuries. 

“Allie,” he chokes, his voice hoarse and desperate, his eyes wild as he scans her face. 

“I know,” she says, and then he’s pulling her into his chest and she’s breathing him in. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs over and over again and finally, on what feels like the hundredth time, she starts to believe it.

Becca reveals her soulmate the night of Allie’s twentieth birthday. 

They’ve been in New Ham for over three years now, and soulmates are rarely a topic of conversation. Sure, there are a few lucky ones – like her and her Harry – who have been fortunate enough to find their other half within their small community, but they’re far outnumbered by the disappointed souls who’ll have to settle for something less than what the universe chose for them. 

So far, Allie knows of only two other soulmate pairs besides herself and Harry: 

Grizz and Sam are the first. She’d been overjoyed when they’d come out as a couple and soulmates shortly after they arrived in New Ham, and it had suddenly clicked for her why Grizz’s mark had looked so familiar that morning outside the locker room. Their path hadn’t been easy, she knows that, what with Sam’s obligations to Eden and Becca, but she thinks there’s no one more deserving of happiness than the two of them. They've come a long way from their start: they currently share a bedroom in her old house, and, as far as Eden is concerned, she has two fathers instead of one. 

The second is Helena and Luke. Allie was surprised when they revealed they were soulmates – in their wedding vows two years ago, nevertheless – even though they’d been a couple before all of this. They just seem so different – Helena is rational to a fault, a devout Christian who’s stuck to her faith through it all, while Luke is a jock (albeit a few steps above Clark and Jason). But, the more she sees them together, the more it starts to make sense. They just fit together. 

Anyway, for her twentieth birthday, Harry and Cassandra work together to throw her a surprise party. Birthdays are a luxury in their new reality, but they both claim she deserves it. She’s just happy to see them working together. 

After the event with Dewey (who’d been sentenced to five years in their makeshift prison, under constant surveillance by at least one member of The Guard), Cassandra had stepped aside as the defacto leader of New Ham, claiming they needed to hold elections immediately.

Harry had convinced Allie to run, giving her a list of all the reasons why she’d make a good leader. According to him, she wasn’t as rigid as Cassandra – more open to listening to input from others - but still capable of making the tough decisions. She’d been helping run the town right alongside her sister for months, he’d argued, doing important work on the Committee for Going Home. 

She’d put her name down just to get him to shut up. Never in a million years had she thought she would actually win. 

Harry had cooked for her at the house the night of her victory. She’d watched him work from her perch on the counter, still a bit shell-shocked. He’d kept it simple with her favorites: Kraft Mac & Cheese and flourless chocolate cake. After they'd finished eating, she’d looked at him across the table: “Do you really think I can do this?” 

He hadn’t missed a beat: “Of course I do. I think you can do anything.” 

Over the course of the first year, he’d been right by her side as a member of her council. Last summer, however, he’d started to gravitate more towards the law aspect of their society. After coming up with a set list of rules for their new home, they’d started arresting and charging people for offenses like stealing or violence. Helena handled most of it on her own, but Harry occasionally lent his voice of reason as well. Allie began to notice how much he lit up when he talked about his work in the court and eventually she approached him with an offer to work full-time there. He still advises her whenever she needs him, but he now lends the majority of his talents to the court instead. 

Tonight, he’s acting as the chef. While ordinarily Allie – who’s totally inept in the kitchen – loves having a boyfriend who’ll cook for her, she can’t help but miss him now as she sits amongst her friends on their back porch and he works his magic in the kitchen along with Grizz. 

“Hey, Allie,” Becca taps her softly on the shoulder, and she turns to face her friend, breaking free of her thoughts. The shorter girl looks sleepy and happy, no doubt feeling the effects of her three glasses of wine (Eden is sleeping soundly upstairs), and she smiles at Allie dopily. “Can I tell you something?” 

Allie shifts so that she’s sitting up straighter, tuning her full attention to her friend. She feels silly in the glittery sash and crown her friends had shoved over her head when they surprised, but she senses this is a serious conversation. Becca’s expression is dreamy, but something about the moment feels heavy and consequential. 

“Anything.” 

Becca smiles softly, then slips up her sleeve to reveal her soulmate mark. Allie looks down at it confusedly, “Becca...I’ve seen your mark before.” 

“I know. Allie,” she takes a deep breath, “Kelly is my soulmate.” 

_Oh_. Allie rears back, more surprised than anything else. Becca had only ever expressed interested in guys before and, as far as she knows, the same applies for Kelly. 

But it makes sense in a way, too. Becca and Kelly are both smart and kind and wonderful in their own ways, and it just seems right that the universe would make each of their other halves someone equally amazing. She tips her head to the side, thinking back to all the times she’s seen them together laughing with Eden in the park or just talking quietly. 

“I’m happy for you,” Allie says sincerely, squeezing her friend’s hand. “How long have you known? You guys never said...” 

“We’ve known since our first year here, but we wanted to keep it private because we weren’t sure how everyone else would react. Grizz and Sam know, and so does Eden. But that’s it.” 

She touches her chest, “It means so much that you shared this with me, Becca. I’m over the moon for you guys.” 

Her friend grins, “Yeah, well, I figured that since I was the one who first told you about the soulmates, you deserved to know mine.” She breathes out loudly, “It’s crazy, huh? We both found our ones.” 

Allie thinks about Harry then, who can make her laugh no matter how stressful of a day she’s had and who – three years in to their relationship – can still make her heart beat out of her chest when he touches her. Who’s always there to hold every time she has a nightmare about Dewey and what could have been, who’s secretly so scared of horror movies that he always makes her sit in his lap when they watch them so he can hide behind her, who makes breakfast for her every Sunday morning without fail, who does her laundry and picks up her half of their chores whenever he knows she’s having a crazy week. 

Yeah, she’s sure. Harry is her one. It seems ridiculous to think that it could ever have been anyone else.

Harry proposes on New Year’s Eve, exactly four years to date since their first real kiss. 

No, he doesn’t get down on one knee in front of their family and friends the second the clock strikes midnight. He doesn’t hide the ring at the bottom of a glass of champagne or slip a ring box out during the countdown. 

Instead, he chooses to do it after they’ve come back from celebrating at Helena and Luke’s and she’s sitting at the kitchen counter in her pajamas, wearing a face mask as she sips at hot chocolate and plays a game on her phone. Harry has gone out to take out the trash, and she frowns as she hears him call out, “Pressman, get out here!” 

“Why?” she calls out, her voice slightly whiney. She’s so close to beating this level of the game. 

“It’s snowing!” 

She folds her arms across her chest petulantly, even though he can’t see her. “We live in Connecticut, Harry. I’ve seen snow before.” 

“It’s the first one of the year, Pressman. It’s special.” 

Annoyed that he’s right, she reluctantly puts down her phone and makes her way outside, stopping to shove her feet into her Ugg booties. Only when she’s out there, standing in the middle of their driveway as the snow swirls to the ground around her, Harry is nowhere to be seen. 

“Bingham?” she calls out. “The Abominable Snowman didn’t get you, did he?” 

“Screw you, Pressman. That Yeti is no match for me.” The voice comes from behind her, and she spins around, a smart quip on the tip of her tongue, only to find that Harry isn’t standing behind her with a smug smirk on his face but rather kneeling on the ground. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She asks dumbly. 

He gives her an exasperated look, “I’m trying to propose here, Pressman, what does it look like?” 

Her jaw nearly hits the ground. It’s been three years and they’re not in high school anymore but their twenties and sure, she’s been thinking that maybe this could happen one day but she wasn’t, in her wildest dreams, prepared for one day to be today. 

“Yes,” she says, without thinking. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “ _Pressman_. Let me ask first.” 

“Okay,” she says, then, “Yes.” 

He groans, but he’s smiling as he says, “Allie Pressman, you amaze me every day with everything you are and everything you do. I’m not sure what I did to wind up with someone like you as my soulmate, but I want to spend every day of the rest of my life trying to deserve you. So, will you marry me?” 

She frowns, “You already deserve me, you dummy.” Her face breaks into a smile then, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Harry Bingham.” 

Then he’s getting to his feet, slipping the ring onto Allie’s finger, and they’re kissing under the snow as happy tears spill down her cheeks and it feels like they could be teenagers again, hearts full and burning brightly.

They get married in mid-May on the gazebo. Allie’s just won her re-election as mayor of New Ham, and almost the entire town shows up to see her tie the knot. Still not fully comfortable with so much attention, she’d felt like she was on the verge of throwing up as she watched everyone gather. 

Cassandra had helped her get ready in her old room, which she’d temporarily moved into two days prior. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder cream-colored wedding dress with her hair down in loose curls and a flower crown resting atop her head instead of a veil. For her something blue, she’d opted for electric blue pumps borrowed from Becca, figuring she could knock out two birds with one stone. 

“You look so beautiful,” her sister had told her, her eyes filled with tears as she helped Allie step into her shoes. “I can’t believe my baby sister is getting married.” 

Cassandra is currently engaged to Gordie who was revealed, to the surprise of almost no one who knew the couple well, to be her soulmate. It’s a little weird for Allie to be getting married before her sister, who’s always been a few steps ahead of her in everything. 

“Don’t make me cry,” she’d said warningly, “Kelly just finished doing my makeup.” 

“I know, I know,” Cassandra had waved her hand, pinching her nose to clear her own tears. “Just – I want you to know that Mom and Dad would be so proud of who you are. They would have loved to be here.” 

“You’re so not helping with the no-crying thing,” Allie had said though blurry eyes and her sister had pulled her into a hug that left them both with blotchy eyes and smudged makeup. 

Now, Cassandra stands at her side at the end of the aisle, ready to give her away. With a deep breath, she begins to walk. 

Truthfully, Allie doesn’t remember a lot of the ceremony. There’s Harry’s staggered breath as he takes in the way she looks, his crooked smirk as he whispers, “You're gorgeous, Pressman,” Helena’s touching words on the power of true love and how she’s never quite seen two other people who bring out the best in each other her and Harry, and, of course, the kiss. 

Harry’s hand is trembling as he cups her cheek, pressing his lips to hers. She kisses him back fiercely, hoping to convey the way she’s feeling inside, and he dips her backwards until someone catcalls. 

Afterwards, they dance to ‘Marry You’ by Bruno Mars at the reception at the house. They’ve both been drinking, and she almost breaks a lamp when Harry twirls her, but she’s never laughed harder in her life. 

Cassandra makes everyone cry with her speech – she even calls Harry ‘brother,’ which takes a lot – and Becca drives everyone to the other kind of tears with her sarcastic punchlines in her toast. 

At the end of the night, Allie clings to her new husband’s hand, tipsy and sleepy and unbelievably happy. Harry must note her drooping eyes because he turns to her, lips brushing her temple, “Ready to call it a night, Pressman?” 

“Pressman-Bingham,” she corrects, and his smile has never been bigger.

Married life, as it turns out, is not so different from what came before it. 

She and Harry still wake up every day tangled up in each other, even if they’d started the night facing away from one another. Sometimes, when there’s a trial going on, Harry will still be wearing the button-down and trouser combo he’d gone to work in. Other times, when things are slightly less chaotic, Allie will be in her favorite pair of footie pajamas and Harry will be sporting his own preferable brand of sleepwear: his underwear. Every now and then, she’ll wake up to Harry’s lips trailing across her bare shoulder, hot and wanting. On those mornings, they’re both late to work. 

Allie has her first major fuck up as mayor about six months into their marriage. She’s overwhelmed, and she gives someone the wrong order and about a week’s worth of rations end up going bad and people are hungry and it’s all her fault and she comes home in tears and furious at herself. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry soothes, exhausted from Dewey’s parole case. His jaw is scruffy with stubble as he presses a kiss to her forehead, his tie undone and his collar askew. “Everyone fucks up sometimes.” 

“ _I_ can’t,” she says vehemently, holding him at arm’s length. “I’m in charge, I’m responsible for keeping us all alive. I can’t afford to make mistakes like this.” 

“It’s not all on you, Pressman,” Harry says, and she gets what he’s saying: _I’m your husband, give me some of your burden to share_. 

And so, despite her frustration at her own carelessness and the guilt burning her inside, she leans into Harry’s arms and lets him ease some of her ache. 

Soulmates and all, let it be said that she and Harry do, in fact, fight. Sometimes it’s as simple as an argument over whose turn it is to take out the garbage, or Harry being annoyed that she left her makeup strewn all over the bathroom counter again. 

Other times, it’s more serious. 

One such occurrence happens three years into their marriage. Helena and Luke have just welcomed their second kid and Allie is kind of, maybe, sort of thinking about one day having her own baby with her blue eyes and Harry’s dark curls. 

Harry doesn’t take this news well. 

“I’m not sure I want to be a dad,” he says, his tone rough and booking no argument, and that turns into a fight that sends her packing to Cassandra’s house. 

“He’s being completely unreasonable,” she huffs angrily through tears on the living couch she grew up watching cartoons on, “I mean, he’s refusing to even entertain the idea of having kids. I’m not saying right now, I’m saying one day. Can’t he at least give me that?” 

“Maybe he’s just scared,” Cassandra offers, and Allie snorts. 

“So, what? We’re all scared of something.” 

Cassandra peers at her closely, some emotion Allie doesn’t recognize in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Al? You seem a little flushed and to be honest, I didn’t know you felt so strongly about having kids.”

She shrugs, defensive all of a sudden, “Maybe I haven’t said it out loud, but I’ve always wanted children. And of course, I’m flushed, it’s so damn hot in here. Can you turn down-”

It’s then, mid-sentence, that Allie realizes something. She realizes it with crushing, life-altering certainty and it’s suddenly very difficult to breathe and the room seems to tilt around her. 

“Whoa, Allie, are you alright?” Cassandra grips her arm to keep her from keeling over, real worry in her eyes, “Do you need me to get you something?” 

“I have to go home,” she breathes and gets to her feet unsteadily. The floor sways a bit beneath her feet and she reaches out to grab her sister’s shoulder. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

“Allie!” Cassandra calls out, but she’s already turning away, out the door, on her way back home. 

On the way, she stops by the pharmacy to confirm something she already knows.

Harry is pacing by the front door when she lets herself in. His expression quickly shifts from anxious to cool as he turns to face her. “You’re home,” he says stiffly. 

“I need to talk to you,” she replies all in a rush and his eyes widen as he takes in her reddened eyes and the way she’s barely holding herself together. His features sharpen with worry, “Allie, are you -?” 

“Can we go into the living room?” she interrupts, folding her arms across her chest to hide her own nerves. 

Harry nods slowly. 

When they’re sitting on the couch, knees touching, Allie is silent. The words are there, at the back of her throat, but she just can’t force them out. Every time she tries, it feels like she’s choking. 

“What’s going on, Allie?” Harry finally demands, his gaze wary. 

“I’m pregnant,” she says quietly and then slumps over in relief because finally, she’s said it out loud. Harry’s eyes go as wide as saucers, all the color draining from his face. It would almost be comical if it wasn’t this moment, and she peers up at him anxiously, wishing there was something she could see in his expression besides nausea. “I didn’t do this on purpose,” she adds quickly, afraid he might suspect the worst of her even though she should know better by now, “I swear, it was a total accident. I guess this is like that 1% of the time the pill is ineffective.” 

Finally, he breathes out a loud, shaky sigh. “I’m so scared, Allie.” 

“So am I,” she admits, shifting closer to him on the couch. Their foreheads are nearly touching. Reaching out, she cups his cheek, her thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. “But this is our kid, Harry. Think of how awesome he or she is going to be.” 

He starts to smile a little bit at that, his lips lifting up at the corners. “I hope she has your eyes.” 

Allie raises an eyebrow, “She?” 

Harry grins fully now, “I have a feeling.”

His expression darks suddenly then, his voice almost a whisper as he says, “God, Allie, what if I fuck up?” 

“You will,” she says automatically. “And I will, too. That’s just part of the process. But I love you and you love me and we’re going to love this kid with all we’ve got. By that alone, they’re going to wind up okay. You just have to focus on that part, alright?" 

“Okay,” he breathes, and then he’s kissing her, his hands on either side of her face, and he’s pushing her back into the sofa cushions, careful not to crush her stomach, and Allie’s excited and scared at the same time and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more.

Allie has always believed she knows what love is. And then her daughter is born, and she shatters all preconceived notions into bits. 

She enters the world kicking and screaming on the hottest day of the year, three weeks early and already breaking rules. Allie’s sweaty and tired, and Harry presses kisses to her warm skin over and over, telling her how great she’s doing, how close she is, and then _finally_ : she’s here.

Kelly places her into Allie’s arms - a tiny, squirming bundle that’s made of her and Harry – and tears spill over onto her cheeks and she thinks her heart might actually crack from being this full. 

They fawn over her smooth, reddened cheeks and the tiny wisps of dark hair covering her scalp and count her fingers and toes – ten of each. Harry is a little reluctant to take turns when it comes to holding her and while Allie misses the warm feeling of her baby’s skin against hers, the sight of their daughter curled against his chest makes her feel just as much. For all his worries and anxieties, he’s a natural father: from day one, the only way to calm her cries is for him to take her into his arms. 

They name her Alexandra Sarah Bingham, an homage to their sisters. The first people to meet her are her godparents – Cassandra and Grizz – and they promise to spoil her rotten. Cassandra has a hard time saying goodbye when it’s time for her to leave the baby, and it takes Harry’s gentle assurance that she can come back first thing tomorrow to get her out the door. 

Allie looks at him when they’re gone, marveling at how far they’ve come. The Harry who stands before her now is nothing like the brash eighteen-year-old she’d only known as her sister’s fiercest rival. At twenty-six, he’s her soulmate, her best friend, her husband, and now, the father of her child. 

“What?” Harry asks quizzically, and she just smiles softly, beckoning him over. He comes to sit by her bedside and for a quiet moment they just exist, looking down at the sleeping little girl Allie's still kind of amazed that they created. 

“I love you,” she tells him, all hushed and choked and she’s never meant it more. He doesn’t say anything, just leans over and presses his lips to hers. Her hair is sweat-soaked, and her skin is clammy and his five o’clock shadow tickles her cheek and she thinks both of them are in desperate need of a shower but it’s the best kiss they’ve ever shared, the sweetest and the realest.

Alexandra – or Alexa, as they quickly start calling her for short– grows up in the blink of an eye. 

For all the hard time she gave Allie during her pregnancy – morning sickness then backaches then kicking all hours of the night (Cassandra remarked dryly that her proclivity for causing trouble was a clear indication of which parent she took after) – she’s as close to a perfect kid as one can get. 

As a baby, she wakes up only twice a night and even then, it only takes a couple of tugs of milk to lull her back to sleep. Allie is the one whose existence becomes reduced to that of a dairy cow, but Harry stays up with her each hour, claiming that since he was just as responsible, he should have to suffer alongside her. 

Consequently, they’re both cranky and sleep-deprived in the mornings but god, she loves him. 

Alexa becomes a little more of a handful when she starts teething, and she and Harry develop a little routine where they wake up at five in the morning and go for a walk around town, Harry chatting quietly to his daughter all the while and giving her mother – who doesn’t have the aid of sweet, sweet caffeine during the day like Harry – a chance to catch up on an extra hour or two of sleep. 

She turns one, then two, then three. They celebrate her birthdays with picnics in the park and cakes messily frosted by Allie and photographs of the birthday princess with her parents, a pink sparkly party hat perched atop of her father’s head in every picture. Her parties are populated by the likes of her cousin Connor, and Helena and Luke's three boys. 

It quickly becomes clear who Alexa takes after: the only thing she’s inherited from her mother is her big blue eyes. Other than that, she’s all Harry. Allie thinks she would be mad if she didn’t love him so much. 

She finds out she’s pregnant again two months after her daughter’s third birthday. It’s not exactly planned or unplanned – they’d made a conscious decision to forgo birth control after Alexa turned three and let the universe run its course. 

Allie tells Alexa first, and then enlists her help in breaking the news to the daddy-to-be (twice over). Of course, she’s a toddler and terrible with keeping secrets so she spills the beans within two hours. They eat breakfast for dinner to celebrate and then, after Alexa is down for the night, she and Harry have a celebration of their own, this one decidedly less PG. 

Eight months later, Allie relaxes in a hospital bed with Alexa perched on the chair beside her and Harry standing inches away. She holds her new daughter carefully against her chest, with her OG marveling over her baby sister’s blonde curls and tiny fingers. 

And in Harry’s arms is their new son. 

Bless her heart, thinking she was big when it was just one baby. She’d stopped looking in the mirror at the end of this pregnancy, no matter Harry’s assurances that she was beautiful. 

Lily and Logan– named for Harry’s father – grow from squirming, pink bundles with hair to lively toddlers before they know it. Allie mourns her children growing up, even cries a little when Logan finally grows out of waking up every two hours a night, because she knows that before she can blink, they’ll be teenagers with lives and loves of their own, making mistakes that terrify her and asking questions she’s afraid she won't have the answers to. 

For now, she holds them close and enjoys every moment.

One night, they’re all piled on Allie and Harry’s bed, watching a kid’s movie that Allie’s pretty sure she’s seeing for the hundredth time. Her eyes keep drifting shut, at least until she’s jolted awake by her four-year-old son shifting his head to a different position on her chest. Her husband, on the other hand, seems pretty enraptured. His hand is lost somewhere in Allie’s hair – her own fingers are tangled in their older daughter’s dark curls – and their youngest child is sprawled across his chest, her arms hooked around her neck, holding him close. 

It’s difficult to tell where one child ends and the next begins, but Allie is warm and cozy and she’s seriously considering just never moving again. 

And then, almost out of nowhere, Alexa pipes up, “Do you guys believe in soulmates?” 

Allie almost chokes, sitting up in bed. Logan makes a small noise of discomfort at having his position in her lap disrupted. 

“Where did you learn that word?” she asks her daughter. 

Alexa just shrugs, “Eden told me.” 

She and Harry exchange a look – one that clearly says, ‘we need to have a talk with Eden before we let her babysit again.’ 

“So,” their firstborn child looks at them expectantly. “Do you?” 

Allie looks across the bed at Harry then, and for a moment she sees through fifteen years to the boy he was at the start of their story. He’s staring back at her, and she wonders if he’s seeing her at sixteen, too– vulnerable and insecure and terrified of calling him hers. 

Maybe they’ll tell their kids the story once they’re older. It’s not exactly a fairytale romance, but it’s _theirs_ and Allie wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

For now, Harry just smiles gently down at their seven-year-old. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly, lifting his gaze to meet Allie’s, “ I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, please!! I really hope you guys liked the way I chose to wrap it up. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and encouragement throughout, they've really pushed me to write this story!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was okay!! Thanks to the people who commented on my other story and suggested soulmate au and secret romance because guess what, I thought it would be fun to combine them into one fic :) The story will eventually get into canon material with the parallel dimension, but we're starting a good couple of months before any of that 
> 
> FYI, Harry and Kelly are aware they're not soulmates, but he doesn't buy into it anyway so they're still together. Allie has just conveniently forgotten Cassandra's question about Harry and Kelly's marks not being in the same place so she, like most people, thinks they are soulmates
> 
> Also I kind of hinted at a weird relationship between Becca and Campbell in this because I think the theory that he's her baby daddy is most compelling. I could be totally wrong, though. There's also a second Easter egg about Becca in this chapter (who her soulmate is!) if you guys can figure it out 
> 
> Please let me know if I should continue this/if you guys liked it!!


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